


Sequence Break

by Yobotica



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alpha Shaun, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Prompt Fic, and by feels I mean angst, for AC 1-3, it's omegaverse, mostly porn at first, of course it involves dubious consent, porn and feels, sort of, spoilers everywhere, suddenly omega Desmond, then the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yobotica/pseuds/Yobotica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally from the kinkmeme, for a prompt asking for a Desmond who doesn't know he's an Omega until he goes into heat for the first time. Shaun is an Alpha who just can't resist.</p>
<p>It spirals out (of control) from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is complete and posted on the kinkmeme, but I'm editing and cleaning it up a bit as I upload it here. Fair warning, starts off as basically just porn and devolves into angst and feels later on.

Desmond knew that by most standards, his life would be considered strange. Before this current Assassin gig, before his little adventure as Abstergo's captive-slash-ancestor-wayback-machine, hell, even before the weird shit he'd seen as a bartender (and there had been some _really_ weird shit, people were nuts), that whole "cult farm" thing was more than a little weird to most people. He'd learned quickly to leave out the details and just let people think he was from the sticks - he hadn't really wanted to make his life any more exciting. Unfortunately, fate clearly had other plans.

After the assassins broke him out of the evil corporate headquarters just so he could literally re-live history all over again with _another_ ancestor's memories, he decided that he had to have met his life's quota on 'weird'. Living with the assassins wasn't that bad, though. He and Rebecca got along great, Lucy was pretty nice most of the time, and Shaun, well, Shaun was incredibly hot. He also seemed to vacillate between being a snarky, sometimes funny asshole or enthusiastic history nerd, and Desmond never knew which one he'd get when he talked to the man. The barbs were easy enough to deal with, really; his bartending job meant he'd learned to deal with plenty of self-absorbed asshats with a quip and a grin, and Shaun was generally much less personal with his jabs - and certainly more amusing. But Desmond's education could be described as unconventional at best, and he didn't know a lot of the facts and people Shaun loved to talk about. As hot as the accent was (and yeah, it really was), Desmond didn't exactly enjoy having his ignorance highlighted every time Shaun opened his mouth, though he was hopeful that wasn't Shaun's intention - his own uncertainty in that regard didn't exactly help. Despite all that, however, it was Shaun's generally grumpy attitude that ensured Desmond didn't spend too much time around him after his initial efforts to break the ice. He mostly just appreciated Shaun's looks from a healthy distance.

Fortunately, the majority of his time was spent in the animus living as Ezio, whose mind he found easier to settle into than Altair's had been. Ezio's youth was fun, and it was easy to sync with him, to learn alongside Federico, to run and climb and fight and fuck. It was freedom. It was everything Desmond had wanted for himself, when he'd run away the first time.

He didn't have much in the way of _actual_ free time, as whenever he wasn't in the animus, he was in the warehouse putting the into practice the lessons he learned from Ezio. Not just for the training he was told he so desperately needed, but also to prevent his long hours in the animus from taking a physical toll on his body. The workouts weren't bad. He'd even go so far as to say that they were fun; the warehouse was stacked with high crates and beams for him to run up and grab and swing from. It was basically a jungle gym for adults. He was sore, like, _all_ the time, but it was actually kind of nice.

So, while his life at the moment was a little weird (he _was_ using a machine to live the life of a young Italian playboy during the renaissance, after all), it was just weird enough. The good kind of weird, even. He should have known that with his luck, it was guaranteed to somehow get worse before it could ever get better.

========

He termed it 'the Incident' (yes, with a capital I) and forbade Rebecca from bringing it up to the others. It wasn't any of their business - hell, it was hardly even _his_ business!

It had been a weird day all around, really. The weather had been shitty, which made Shaun even more pissy than usual, seeing as he had to be out in it while attending a meeting of some kind - the nature of which Desmond was, of course, not privy to. Lucy was on a supply run, and Desmond was in the animus. It was a normal enough session, at first. Ezio was brawling with some other hot-blooded kids in the street when something changed. It was gradual, actually took him a while to notice, but Desmond felt ill. Wait, no, it was Ezio who felt sick. But Desmond couldn't separate from it. He couldn't pull his mind back as he did when things got too real. 

He _might_ have panicked a little bit. Might have even panicked enough that he nearly desynchronized, before he heard Rebecca's voice through the animus. "Desmond? Desmond, you need to calm down. Your heart rate and brain activity are off the charts! Try to stay with him, I don't think de-synching like this would be good."

"I don't feel good," he managed. "I feel sick. I mean, _he_ feels sick. I can't tell..."

There was silence for a bit, as Ezio made his way towards his home, bruised a little more than normal after these kinds of afternoons, with a dizziness that was most certainly not the norm. "Shit," Rebecca finally swore. "I can't pull you out, I can't manually stop the memory without forcing it, and that's never a good idea. This happens sometimes, if a memory is particularly strong or important," she said, but she sounded strange, and Desmond sighed. 

"But bad, right? Usually bad?," he asked.

There was another pause before Rebecca replied. "Usually, but...I'm not sure that's the case here."

"What do you mean?," he asked.

"We know quite a bit about him, actually, and, ah... as far as we know, nothing traumatic or horrible happens to him...around this time."

"So you're saying something horrible _does_ happen to him?"

"Horrible things happen to everyone, Desmond. Just... stay synched with him if you can, alright? I'll try to figure out what this could be and get back to you when I have more info."

By this point, Ezio was home, had been put to bed with only soup for dinner, and when he complied without complaint, both Maria Auditore and Desmond knew that something really was wrong. After eating, Ezio drifted for a bit, which meant Desmond did, too, and it wasn't so bad as long as he didn't move too much. 

Somehow, after what felt like minutes, it was morning again, and Ezio's mother was frowning down at him with her hand on his forehead. Ezio complained of his symptoms, and his mother nodded sympathetically, making soothing noises as she left. Soon a doctor arrived, and then Giovanni was there, and since Ezio hadn't been able to focus on the conversation, it meant Desmond couldn't. Which was weird, because sometimes he _could_ focus on things his current 'hosts' couldn't or hadn't, but right now he couldn't separate from Ezio at all. He felt so warm, so feverish and full, but his skin felt too sensitive, too tight somehow.

Without warning, Ezio started stripping his clothing off. All of his senses suddenly seemed so much sharper, and everything was just too _much_. That spurred the adults into action, and soon enough, Ezio was being bathed, which helped. And even though the hands on his skin felt really, _really_ good, Ezio just moaned and complied with whatever directions he was given. He wanted more, but couldn't articulate, couldn't do anything but float on this strange dizziness and just _feel_. Desmond could swear Rebecca was talking to him or something, but it seemed so far off, so hard to focus on.

Then he was being led back to his bedroom, where a guest was waiting. All of a sudden, sensation slammed into Ezio's brain and his body reacted without even Ezio's input, moving towards the very welcoming stranger. Desmond realized at the same time Ezio did that it was a scent she had that Ezio wanted more of; Ezio was pushing the woman to the bed, nuzzling at her neck, his hands roaming and claiming and all but tearing what little she wore off of her before time seemed to blur and details became irrelevant. It was a different sexual experience than Ezio had ever had before (and he'd had more than a few); new instincts seemed to awake inside him and he was practically a passenger inside his own body - which made Desmond even dizzier when he had the presence of mind to think about it. Ezio's guest, however, was experienced and kind and provided exactly what Ezio needed. For Desmond and Ezio both, this was a timeless period, full of a strange new hunger and satiation like neither had experienced before. It was some time before they both felt back to normal, when Desmond found himself able to focus outside of Ezio, though he still couldn't 'leave'. It had to have been days, even though it felt like they hadn't really slept. Desmond dimly remembered eating something, but it was fuzzy, as if it had been a dream. By the time Desmond could think clearly about it, he worried that maybe this had taken the entire afternoon up in the 'real world', and he'd wake up to... well, he wasn't sure, secondhand embarrassment and an unspoken agreement to never mention it, or ridicule. But time worked differently in the animus and Desmond thought (or maybe just hoped) there was a possibility that this hadn't taken that long.

As if the whole situation wasn't awkward and weird enough, Desmond had to sit through the talk Ezio's father gave about his secondary gender and what it meant and how he'd have to take care if he wanted to take any 'normal' lovers after this. Federico hadn't presented, but Ezio wasn't the only one in the family, it seemed. Only after Ezio fell asleep did Desmond feel the animus disengaging, letting his consciousness flow back into his own body.

He sat up, feeling dizzy and yet full of a strange energy, and somehow, somehow, all of this had happened before even Lucy had returned from her supply run. Shaun would be out for hours, yet. "Becca, what the fuck was that?," he growled, and Rebecca, damn her, just laughed. 

"Oh man, I'm sorry, Desmond, I tried to warn you once I realized, but you were too far gone. I mean, we knew he was an Alpha, but I never thought... This was his presentation, Desmond. What I don't get, though... I mean, _why_ would the animus want to show us this? Why would this memory insist...?," she frowned, hands flying over her keyboard. 

"Rebecca, no, you can't....you can't bring this up to the others, okay? It was just some weird fluke, and we're both going to pretend it didn't happen. I'm gonna go run around in the warehouse for a bit, then shower." He stood and stretched. 

"But Desmond!," she began, and Desmond cut her off.

"No. I mean it. If I hear one word from the others about this, I swear," he grumbled, but he didn't have anything to back that up with, and they both knew it. 

"Fine, I'll archive it locally only," she agreed, while Desmond didn't really want it archived at all, he knew better than to argue. It was so private, so intimate and overwhelming, that he himself felt bad for experiencing it as he had! Like some sort of creepy voyeur or something, only he hadn't been watching, it had been _his_ hands on her body, _his_... But no, it hadn't been his, it had been Ezio's, and he really, really needed to get that out of his system.

He spent the next few hours in the warehouse, running his body to exhaustion - he wanted to burn off that energy, wanted to purge more than just the physical feeling of the whole experience from his mind. It wasn't until after he was dripping with sweat that he made his way upstairs to shower, and by the time he got out, Lucy was back.

He went straight to his bed - which was in the animus room, seeing as they all had their own bedrooms long before he got here, and the warehouse only had the three - and collapsed. Lucy didn't say a word about his being out of the animus so early, but she also didn't ask about the weird sex thing, so maybe Rebecca just said it was a bad session or blamed it on technical difficulties. Either way, he was out like a light in minutes.

========

Desmond had hoped, of course, that the Incident could be quickly put behind him, but it hung on his mind afterwards, and he'd honestly kind of expected it. Not that there was anything he could really do about it, either. He couldn't change it, couldn't go back and not re-live it somehow, and to his great relief his next animus session was unexceptional. It had just been a fluke, just a blip and now his life could get back to the normal. Well, his new "normal", anyways, that's what he'd hoped. Which meant, yeah, okay, sometimes, he'd start pouring coffee and just lose time until he came back to the sound of it dripping from the counter onto the floor. Or sometimes he'd open his mouth to say something and another language that _he didn't even speak_ would come out instead. And sometimes he'd wake up and not only not know where he was, but when or even _who_ he was. But at least he wasn't witnessing/participating in some weird, hormone-riddled sex fugue.

So he mostly spent time trying to not think about it. He spent so much energy towards that end that it was days before he noticed something rather ...off about himself. He felt tired all the time, physically drained, even though he hadn't done anything but lay in the animus all day. The current memories were...well, Ezio's family had just been killed in front of him, and Desmond _knew_ it wasn't his life, but he felt Ezio's pain as if it were his own, and that was way worse than Altair's stoicism or anger or guilt. He knew Rebecca couldn't have warned him, not really, but that didn't mean he couldn't resent it a little bit. 

So, sure, Ezio's anguish could possibly explain his own physical exhaustion, maybe, but it didn't explain the other stuff. Sometimes he even felt sore, but he hadn't been working out since the day of the Incident (due to the lack of energy), so he couldn't explain that. It wasn't even the phantom soreness he sometimes felt from training as Ezio - the pulled muscles or aching joints (which he always reported dutifully) - but something different and more than a little embarrassing.

But of course that wasn't all. Desmond wasn't sure if he was going crazy or what, but if he could prove it, it couldn't really be insanity, could it? Ever since Shaun returned from his meeting - the day after the Incident - Desmond could, without fail, tell where he was in the warehouse. It didn't matter how far apart they were, how many doors or walls or crates separated them, Desmond could find him. He'd tested it, of course; whenever Shaun wasn't in the animus room, Desmond would follow that strange new instinct straight to him. Of course, Shaun didn't find this amusing at all after the second time, and that was part of one of Desmond's other problems. He was kind of a bitch when he didn't feel well, so even Shaun's regular brand of sniping riled him up more than ever before and he'd snap back harder than usual. Harder than he even meant, really. He wasn't even sure why he was doing it, or why only Shaun produced that reaction. 

But, as weird as that was, it wasn't the weirdest thing. Ever since Shaun returned, Desmond couldn't help but notice that he smelled good. Like, _really_ good. Not like a new cologne or anything - as far as he could tell, Shaun didn't even wear any - just really, really appealing. This detail, more than any of the others, was what made him question his sanity, because as far as he could tell, aside from his increased annoyance at Desmond's behavior, _nothing_ about Shaun had changed.

Despite all that, though, not only did he not anticipate what came next, he didn't even recognize the symptoms when he woke up feverish and hot one morning. Something twinged in him, it felt familiar somehow, but his brain felt hazy, too full and sluggish to do anything. He could hear Lucy calling him to get out of bed, that breakfast would be soon and he had to start on Ezio's training with his uncle Mario today.

Desmond heard the words, but they slid right past him; they didn't matter. He felt drenched, somehow, sodden and moist and sticky all over, but most especially his ass, which had been the sorest lately. His skin felt too hot and taking off his clothes seemed like it would be such a great idea if it wasn't so much fucking _effort_. He made an attempt that barely pushed the hem of his shirt a few inches before declaring it impossible with a pained noise.

Apparently, that got Lucy's attention, as she was soon standing over his bed, frowning down at him. "Desmond?," she asked, and reached to touch his forehead, and her hand was so cool against him that he moaned softly at the contact.

She yanked her hand away and cursed and soon returned with a thermometer and a cool, damp cloth that felt heavenly on his overheated skin. He was content to wait for her verdict on his situation before he heard an explosive curse coming from the entrance of the room. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that it was Shaun, and despite the obvious agitation in his voice, it calmed Desmond somewhat. Shaun would know what to do, Shaun would take care of him. The thought that before now, he wouldn't trust Shaun to tie his shoes for him without sabotage barely managed to cross his mind before it was gone again, and he relaxed back into the pillows. Lucy pulled the thermometer from his mouth with a worried noise and left his side with barely a glance at him, towards Shaun who was pacing in the hall, from the sounds of it. She left the rag, so Desmond wiped his face down, then his neck, and even though it had seemed so much effort before, he could cool himself off easier without his shirt, and it was somehow gone in seconds. He might have ripped it. He didn't care.

He sighed as he ran the rag down his chest, shivering from much more than the temperature of the cloth. It felt good, so very good. He could hear Lucy and Shaun talking in the hallway, but couldn't focus on the conversation. It couldn't matter nearly as much as the relief he was getting, despite the fact that the cloth was slowly getting warmer. Soon, his clothing was in the way again as the rag traveled down his stomach and reached the hem of his pants, and he groaned, resenting the effort it would take to strip them off.

But he was going to; he was about to take them off, had started to shimmy out of them when Shaun's voice cut sharply across the room. "Is he... he _is_ stripping! Bloody fuck, get him....get him in one of your rooms, _now,_ and change the goddamn code!," he snarled, and Shaun had never talked like that before, and it amazed Desmond that he was so turned on by it, by that tone of voice. He realized he was hard the same second that Shaun's door slammed, and then cool hands were on Desmond, taking the rag from him and helping him stand. He tried to turn, to get them to _touch him, dammit,_ but they were having none of it, and he was soon deposited on a different bed, the rag tossed to him again, cool once more. 

He supposed that meant he could strip now, though, and his pants and boxers were off in seconds, and he felt so much better. Even more so when he ran the rag down his abdomen, along his hips and around the base of his dick. Down his thighs and behind, then back up, and _oh,_ if that didn't make him arch his back and take notice. He lifted one leg, repeating the motion, swiping slowly, gently down his thigh, along the crease where it met his ass, and between his cheeks, and there it was again, that hot, sparking sensation that was nothing like relief but everything he now wanted.

His timidity didn't last. He let out a soft moan despite himself, and soon abandoned the rag so his fingers could probe at his unusually sensitive pucker - it was definitely slick now, which was definitely not the norm. He couldn't bring himself to care, however, as it felt so good, so unbelievably good, fingers pressing and rubbing and suddenly he was coming all over his stomach, without so much as touching his dick! 

Desmond fell flat back onto the bed, panting harshly and for a moment, he felt the haze lifting a bit from his mind, which left plenty of room for mortification instead. He'd never come from anal stimulation alone, and would never have gotten himself off _on someone else's bed!_ A quick glance told him this could only be Rebecca's room. God, he'd nearly stripped off entirely in the main room - what on earth would the others think? But while a part of him felt he should feel a bit more panicked than he was, he felt that haze descending onto his mind again. He felt that strange itch to touch himself again, and he sighed even as he knew he'd give in. The fevered feeling returned before he'd even managed to clean himself up, though whether it had been a few minutes or an hour, he was in no state to guess.

He was distantly aware that he probably shouldn't be doing this, but it was such a small part of him and it seemed so insignificant to the pleasure he wanted to feel again. One hand wrapped around his cock, already hot and hard and heavy again, and he shifted to the side so his other hand could brush against his incredibly sensitive hole once more. This time, however, he began sliding one finger inside himself, expecting it to be difficult and uncomfortable, but all he felt was a strange sort of relief, a loud gasp escaping him as his finger slid in with barely any resistance at all. It wasn't long before he added another, and before he could add a third, he was crying out with another orgasm, spilling onto the sheets this time.


	2. Chapter 2

Shaun was, he felt, understandably agitated. "How on earth could you miss the fact that he's an omega?!," he demanded. "Didn't Abstergo run a battery of tests on him? Even a urine sample could detect this!"

Lucy cringed. "Of course they tested him! They tested everything they could think of, and this was never in his records! I brought everything they had on him! You _have_ seen his files! They...must have missed this somehow..," she said.

"Oh, of course, they must have missed his secondary gender entirely! You're saying he didn't go into heat once during his stay? Are you certain Abstergo wasn't filling him with suppressants? They have access to the highest-grade suppressants both on _and_ off the markets! Hell, they manufacture almost all of them!" Shaun was pacing. He could smell Desmond, even now, and the very trying last few days of his life suddenly made sense, what with Desmond popping up everywhere, all the time, acting really, really strange. "I have to leave," he said suddenly, already moving to his station to grab his laptop and his files, everything he'd need to work elsewhere for a few days.

"You can't _leave!,"_ Lucy cried. "Why would you need to leave, you're... you're on suppressants yourself, aren't you?"

It was very hard not to let out the sigh he wanted to, but time was of the essence. "Yes, Lucy, I'm on suppressants. They perform exactly as advertised: they suppress my ruts, and many of my own natural instincts. They do not, however, prevent me from responding to a bloody omega in heat spreading his rutting hormones everywhere! Therefore, I have to leave. Contact me when it's over." He was already reaching for his pre-packed bag; he could be gone in minutes. 

"No, Shaun, you can't just leave. Rebecca's put him in her room, she'll change the lock combination, everything _will be fine,"_ she said, and of course, she had no way of guaranteeing that, but that wasn't the point that Shaun felt he should fight. She shook her head, as if anticipating him. "You know you can't leave. You can't break SOP for this, you can't put us all at risk over this, and right here is where you are most secure to do your best work, which the other teams need, too. We'll ride this out, we'll get him on suppressants, too, and it'll be fine."

Shaun wanted to argue, he really did, for her atrocious choice of words if nothing else. Lucy had no idea, none at all. Suppressants didn't solve every problem, and just because he _could_ ignore his instincts when he took them didn't mean that he wanted to, or that it was easy. He had just one tactic to try. "Lucy, I'd be just as effective elsewhere. Here, my concentration and abilities are compromised. Anywhere else, it's just convenience."

She remained firm, though, shaking her head. "And our safety, your safety. That's the one thing we can't risk. Not for this."

Shaun growled, but she was right: it wasn't as if he could just leave - it was too big a risk. It would be fine, somehow, it would have to be.

========

A little later, Shaun was once again at his workstation, and was doing about as well as he'd expected - that is to say, not well at all. It was difficult to ignore the heady scent still thick in the air, sure, but it was the noises that got to him the most. Needy, eager, by turns pleased and then unsatisfied. They'd stopped a while ago (Desmond had probably passed out) but he could still hear them in his mind, he knew what Desmond needed, knew he could give it to him...

Sometimes he hated his biology. He couldn't help but respond, no matter what he himself wanted or didn't want. He barely knew Desmond, and while the man was pretty hot (like a goddamn supernova, Christ, it was unfair), he also seemed kind of shallow, wandering off with his eyes somewhat glazed every time he asked about Shaun and Shaun actually answered. But, he actually teased back when Shaun was being short with him. He really didn't know what to make of Desmond just yet, hadn't decided if he'd even try to get to know him. If he even liked him. Shaun's body didn't care, though. He wanted, oh, he _wanted..._

He took a deep breath, though of course that helped not at all, tainted as it was with Desmond's bloody pheromones. Rebecca was right now taking his sweaty sheets to be laundered because Shaun was most emphatically not working in a room with Desmond's stupid omega hormones on the furniture. He ground his teeth together and tried to focus on what he'd been doing when Rebecca finally returned. They'd decided she'd stay in Lucy's room for the duration, and while normally that would have provided a wealth of material for their banter, he _was_ a little distracted.

When she returned, Rebecca looked sheepish. "Okay guys, I uh, I have some information," she murmured, ducking her head. That definitely got his attention, and from the expression he'd caught on Lucy's face, it definitely had hers as well. "Desmond's not in heat. I mean, not in a normal heat. He's presenting."

"Presenting? The man is twenty-five, there's no way he's presenting _now!"_

"About that, see, last week there was this weird incident in the animus while you guys were gone..."

========

It was impossible to sleep. Shaun didn't even share a wall with Rebecca's room, but he fancied he could still hear Desmond anyway and it was driving him to distraction. Part of him wished he wasn't on suppressants, so he could just fuck the man and not have to worry about the consequences. Boy, that would be easy, wouldn't it? But as it was, he could still think, and honestly? That fucking _sucked._

It sucked because it meant he could remember precisely what Desmond looked like that morning, arching on the bed and displaying his (extremely fit) body shamelessly, rubbing that rag all over his torso with such a blissful expression on his face. He could remember quite clearly the noises he heard while trying to work, recalled the smell of him, could all but see Desmond trying in vain to satisfy his own needs. No. No, what it meant was he could ache and throb all he wanted, but he had the higher functions necessary to tell him it wasn't pity or hormones that had him already working on an override to the lock on Rebecca's door. 

Oh, he knew he could make up so many justifications for his actions, but he knew the truth was simply that he needed to be in there, needed to taste and touch and... no, just that he _wanted_ to do those things. It had been a long time since he'd had an Omega, much less one in heat, and Desmond sounded so plaintive, so needy, and Shaun could help him, Shaun could give him exactly what he needed! It was possible - extremely unlikely but a definite non-zero chance - that he was compromised somehow, but no, he was convinced and accepted that it was only his own desire that had him sneaking down the hall. Not hormones, not a rut, just a lonely man seizing a very unlikely opportunity. One that would probably have terrible consequences, true, but Shaun hadn't ended up with the Assassins by always making the prudent choice. 

Sure, he still didn't know how he felt about the man, but it didn't have to _mean_ anything. And he wasn't going to hurt him, nothing like that at all - in fact, just the opposite. They would both feel really, really good for a few days and then they could go back to being barely more than strangers. Things could be awkward later, of course. Or, maybe Desmond would appreciate the assistance after experiencing an entire day without. Either way, Shaun knew the decision was made the moment he'd pulled his clothes back on after an unsuccessful attempt at sleep and pulled out his tools. Whatever happened, he'd accept the consequences.

He had a final moment of hesitation in front of Rebecca's door, but it was only a moment. In only a few more seconds, he bypassed the lock and stepped inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Desmond never put any of his clothes back on. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he couldn't stop touching himself! Dimly, he realized this was somewhat similar to what Ezio went through, but at the same time, it was nothing like it at all. He didn't feel the same desires Ezio had, his body didn't feel the same, nor did it fill out as Ezio's had. But he didn't have the energy or mental capacity to reason it out further. Instead, he slept some, and at some point, someone had to have opened the door, since there was a plate of food on the floor near it. 

He managed to crawl over and eat, leaving the plate where it was, before heading back to the bed. He should probably be grossed out by how many of his fluids were now on both himself and Rebecca's bed, but he honestly didn't give a fuck. He slept some more, but then the itching, the hunger returned, and his hands roamed his body once more. He was still so hot, and nothing was enough! It was unbearable.

He heard the lock's beep before the door opened, and he figured someone was coming to take the plate away, maybe drop off a new one, since he had no way of knowing the time in here. Desmond was facing the wall, but forced his hands away from himself. He could manage a few moments of decency, at least. Soon enough, the door shut again, the lock beeped as it was engaged, and Desmond let out a heavy sigh, his hands already moving down his sides, toying with his nipples, sliding along his hips. He thought he heard a few more beeps, but was distracted by something else; something was different. His body was reacting to something, aching sharply in new and un-fun ways. 

Realization hit him the same time the hand did, pulling at his shoulder, rolling him back. "Shaun," he said, or tried to say, but of course it came out instead as a breathy sort of moaning noise. It was his scent he recognized, feeling a surge of energy and want, precome drooling out of his suddenly engorged cock. Desmond rocked his hips shamelessly, even as a chorus of 'what the fuck' was playing through his head on repeat.

It was dark in the room - it had been since he'd been put in there - but he could see just fine. Shaun's expression was unlike anything Desmond had ever seen on him before; hungry and predatory, and maybe a little surprised, and somehow that seemed to ignite his desire even further. Shaun pulled his hand back and Desmond took the opportunity to move backwards on the bed, though his body was demanding he do the opposite. He was in one of his more lucid moments, thankfully, staring at Shaun with wide eyes. 

"What the fuck...?," he finally managed, but Shaun growled something as he began stripping off his stupid sweatervest-shirt combo, revealing a rather lean physique Desmond wouldn't have ever suspected lay under his ridiculous - and in no way kind of hot - nerd clothes. His body, apparently uncaring for his own objections to the situation, arched and spread his legs further, with absolutely zero input from his brain. He was displaying himself, offering himself to Shaun, and he wasn't so stupid he didn't know what was going to happen. This was _nothing_ like Ezio, who'd been full of a hunger to posses and dominate. Ezio had felt a kind of helplessness, yes, but not like this. Ezio hadn't spread his legs and begged to be filled. He'd taken what was offered, had fucked and conquered his very willing omega. Suddenly, Desmond knew what must be happening. Somehow, he'd turned into an omega, and now he was the one craving something he had never before even considered, much less needed with such urgency. He'd been fucked before - fairly often, at some points - but this was different. It was an all-consuming desire to be _taken._ To submit, to be possessed and conquered and filled, and... All at once, the terror he knew he should have felt before overwhelmed him, and he squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, but that was all he _could_ control; his body still rocked helplessly, legs spread nearly as wide as he could manage.

His expression must have given Shaun pause, though, as when Desmond realized nothing was happening, he opened his eyes to find Shaun standing by the bed, completely naked - and very hard. Desmond knew his eyes widened when he stared at that cock - it was somehow fearsome, huge and so slick already, bobbing slightly with his heartbeat. Desmond's eyes flew up to Shaun's face again, who was regarding him with head cocked. Shaun was tense, every muscle rigid as he kept himself still for that moment. "Shaun...I don't know what's wrong with me," he breathed, and hated how weak he sounded.

But Shaun growled and finally moved, pushing Desmond back to the bed. "Nothing's wrong with you, Desmond. You're presenting. I'm going to take care of you," he breathed against Desmond's jaw, teeth more than lips brushing across the skin there, and Desmond shivered. His hands seemed to be all over Desmond's body, sliding over his sweat-slick skin, over the evidence of previous orgasms with an eagerness that was as flattering as it was frightening.

"S-shaun, what...what are you-," Desmond began, but those clever fingers were on his nipples, and sure, he enjoyed that as much as any red-blooded man, but it had never felt like this before, like a live wire straight to his cock. Desmond jumped and arched against Shaun without even meaning to. "Jesus fuck," he breathed, and had to open his eyes because they'd closed somehow without him even being aware. "What are you doing?," he asked, and he knew it came out kind of high, shook a little because he was freaked the fuck out, even as he was rocking his hips against Shaun almost eagerly.

"I've got what you need. I'll take care of you," Shaun repeated, nipping gently at a collarbone, and that made Desmond shudder and wrap his legs around Shaun, bucking against him desperately. "That's it, come for me, I need you relaxed," he murmured, and in that moment, Desmond no longer cared what he was saying, because one of his hands slid downward to start stroking Desmond's aching prick and he was coming all over the both of them, shuddering and groaning.

"Good, that's a good boy," Shaun murmured, milking him through it, and Desmond sighed and relaxed as Shaun's other hand rubbed up and down his side, from his hip to his ribs, then back again. A few moments later, though, he was turning Desmond over, onto his stomach. Shaun grabbed a pillow from the floor - Desmond had no idea how it got there - and shoved it under Desmond's hips. "Gotta make sure you're ready," Shaun murmured, and Desmond had no idea what he meant - he was slick, so slick, and he'd managed four of his own fingers already, and his face burned with both the humiliation of it and the want for it.

He was honestly about to protest - though whether about the whole situation or the necessity of preparation, Desmond wasn't sure - but Shaun's hands were parting his cheeks, and something hot and slick was wriggling between them and it was the best thing Desmond had ever experienced in his entire life until that point. Shaun's tongue was as wicked here as it ever was, tracking over his hole before pressing in, teasing him in ways that were absolutely unfair. He was more sensitive there than he'd ever been before, and while no one had ever done this to him before, he was certain it only felt _this_ good because of his recent change. Shaun didn't use only his tongue, either, fingers joining in and stretching him slowly, feeling him out. Shaun nipped at his cheeks, kissed his entire backside gently, and Desmond was hard again in minutes, cock throbbing and pulsing with each new sensation. He was moaning almost constantly, and it was only Shaun's hand, firm on his back, that kept him from writhing. He spread his legs as much as he could, rocking as much as he was able, already working up to another orgasm.

Shaun pulled away then, wiping his mouth and pulling the pillow away so he could push Desmond down into the bed. Desmond felt his weight, solid and reassuring, and canted his hips, offering himself. "Shaun, please, fuck me, god, just fuck me," he all but sobbed, mostly from need, a little from shame. He'd never been reduced to this before, and hell, he wasn't even sure if Shaun even _liked_ him, but here he was begging for his cock like he'd die if he couldn't have it.

He could feel it, could feel the heat from Shaun's cock just inches away from where Desmond wanted it most, but Shaun didn't move. "You want it, Desmond?," he purred. "You want this inside you? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, please, don't... don't make me beg," he moaned, turning his head into the pillows. He'd basically already done that , but still, he felt as if the humiliation were burning itself permanently into his face. "Fuck, Shaun, just... do it already," he gasped, arching his back, and he probably would have gone on despite himself, except that Shaun was pushing inside him, _finally,_ and it felt so good. Desmond had taken more than a few cocks in his life, and it had never felt like this before, never lit his every nerve on fire like this. He groaned, long and deep and practically felt Shaun's own response as he settled his hips against Desmond's ass. 

"You're so wet for me, Desmond, so tight," he breathed, and Desmond couldn't help but moan, turned on and embarrassed in equal measure. He was already rocking his hips, desperately seeking the friction of the sheets against his cock, friction from Shaun's cock - _anything,_ so long as he wasn't keeping still. Shaun's hand briefly pressed against the back of Desmond's neck, and Desmond gasped, his cock jumping and drooling more precome onto the bed beneath him. How could that one touch feel so good? Then that hand slid down Desmond's spine, slick with sweat, before both of Shaun's hands gripped Desmond's hips, tightly. "I'm going to _ruin_ you," he breathed, and Desmond shivered. He meant to say something to that, he really did, but Shaun pulled out and slammed back into him, robbing Desmond of thought and breath alike.

Desmond was loud despite himself, couldn't stop making noises even when he stuffed a corner of a pillow into his mouth, or his fist; _nothing_ stopped his breathless gasps and moans. He wasn't sure if it was lucky that he was beyond words already or not - he was more than loud enough for the both of them, but he could hear Shaun's breath coming harshly, hear his quiet grunts every time he pushed back in.

Desmond would be humiliated at how little it took for him to come again. Shaun hadn't been inside him for a full two minutes before he was shaking and gasping and coming again on the sheets beneath him. But Shaun just rubbed the back of his neck again, said "Good boy, you're so good for me," in a tone that somehow made Desmond feel as if he _had_ done something praiseworthy. Shaun fucked him through it, though he slowed his strokes somewhat, and Desmond just kept rocking back into him. He wasn't finished, he needed more, and Shaun petted his back again. "I've got you, I'll give you everything you need," he purred and Desmond shook his head, moaning into the pillow. He should be overstimulated, but he wasn't. He wasn't; he wanted, wanted, _wanted,_ seemed to be this yawning abyss of need that would never be filled. He wanted to say something, but there was no way he could vocalize any of this, not with Shaun still moving inside him, his hand running up and down Desmond's back like he was an animal that needed soothing. And maybe he was, because it worked, somehow, it did, and Desmond was soon responding as enthusiastically as before.

"That's perfect, yes," Shaun murmured, and his fingers were digging into Desmond's hips again as he began fucking him harder, in earnest now, pressing Desmond back down into the bed. "I'm going to fill you," he said, and it sounded like a promise, and god, Desmond was hard again, or maybe he was still hard, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Shaun had been slamming into him, but now his cock seemed to be getting even bigger, and his thrusts were slowing down, and...

"Wh-what? Shaun! Shaun, wait, no," he gasped, because he could feel something else, could feel himself being stretched even further. He'd taken four of his own fingers and Shaun's cock just fine, but this was something new, forcing itself into his asshole. It was uncomfortable, but Desmond's hips didn't stop moving, his cock was still aching for release. He tried to move, his hands scrabbled at the sheets and he tried to lift himself up, but Shaun gripped his hard neck and he shuddered, immediately falling back to the bed as if boneless. 

"It's alright, Desmond, just take it. You can take it, you can, you're so good," he breathed, and his movements were gentle for a moment, easing in this strange new _thing,_ and Desmond, relaxed from that grip, had to admit that it kind of did feel pretty good now that he wasn't panicking. Shaun tensed and shoved his hips forward and Desmond yelped, but it was drowned out by Shaun's own noise this time, a loud, harsh moan. "Fuck Desmond, take all of it," he gasped, and Desmond could feel Shaun's cock expanding, could feel the bloom of warmth deep inside as Shaun came. 

Somehow, despite the sharp pain of Shaun's sudden forward thrust, despite the fact that he could get no friction against the sheets with how Shaun was holding him down, Desmond was coming too, and it felt different this time. It felt like the itch was finally sated for now, and while he knew it wasn't gone, the relief of it, even temporary, overwhelmed his exhausted body and he passed out, just like that.

Desmond wasn't sure how long he slept, but when he woke, he was laying on his side, using Shaun as his pillow because Shaun was still buried inside him. He realized now, with the clarity brought on by that last orgasm, that Shaun had knotted him - and though it had gone down somewhat, the pressure was what kept Shaun where he was. The pillows he'd been propped up on were now on the floor, which was probably for the best. He certainly wasn't putting his head on them _now._ For the first time in what felt like days, he felt mostly clear-headed, but knew something wasn't quite right because honestly, he felt he should panic a little bit more about having Shaun's cock still inside him. Desmond shifted to get a look at the other man - Shaun was asleep, but he looked absolutely _wrecked._ His glasses were missing, his hair was sticking out in all directions, and he was definitely in need of a shave, but...fuck, it was a good look for him. Shaun's other arm was draped over him, hand splayed gently over Desmond's stomach, and it was... it was nice. 

Desmond sighed and shifted back to the way he'd been, his head pillowed on Shaun's arm. Shaun had said something wasn't 'wrong' with him, but Desmond wasn't that much of an idiot. This was most definitely not right; a presentation at his age wasn't normal at all. But right now, it wasn't so bad, and he was relaxed, so he drifted back off to sleep without even meaning to.

========

When Desmond woke again, however, Shaun was awake. He was certain that Shaun had, in fact, woken him up, but his mind was soon overwhelmed with need, and the next thing he knew, he was pressed against the wall with Shaun both holding him up and fucking into him with a ferocity that drove him completely crazy. He'd never imagined Shaun like this, strong and forceful, or even just strong in general (and later, when he was more clear-headed, he'd blame it on Shaun's boring nerd clothes). Right then, however, he was once again beyond words, just mewling and moaning and shaking with need, because Shaun just held him there, just _held him there,_ and fucked Desmond through two orgasms before he finally came, this time without the knot.

"Fuck, Desmond," he gasped, his teeth scraping against Desmond's neck and that felt pretty good, so he tilted his head to encourage Shaun to continue. Then Shaun's teeth grazed a little lower, a sharp sensation closer to his shoulder, and somehow that felt amazing, it felt _right,_ so he moaned and arched his back, bared his neck further for even more. He'd been gripping Shaun tightly, but his hands moved to Shaun's hair to pull him closer, to keep him exactly where he was. He knew he was making a breathless, eager noise, but he absolutely did not care; he _needed_ Shaun to continue doing that thing with his teeth, right there. He was still tingling from his last orgasm, but suddenly Shaun was pulling out, pushing him away. And, mostly due to said orgasm, Desmond's legs were basically jelly, so they did precisely nothing to hold him up and he fell to the floor with Shaun's come already running out of his ass. 

"What the fuck, Shaun?," he demanded, realizing that that was the first full coherent sentence he'd managed in hours. He would feel proud, but he was mostly annoyed now. And sticky.

Shaun just stared down at him, like he was seeing him for the first time, and his expression was almost horrified. In that moment, Desmond realized that if he were an omega, then Shaun must be an alpha, what Ezio was... and that he hadn't meant to be here, doing this with Desmond. It was just his biology, and Desmond suddenly felt _awful,_ the satiation suddenly wrenched from his body to leave a bone-deep weariness instead. "Fuck," he growled, and scrambled up, into Rebecca's bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

He was trembling, half in dread and half in anguish, but Shaun apparently made no move to follow him. There was no knock at the door, no questions asked through it, angry or otherwise. Desmond tried not to feel hurt because he knew it wasn't really his fault either, but only managed to feel hollow instead. Numbly, he avoided the mirror and made his way to the shower, turning it on as hot as he could stand before washing both their fluids from his body. He scrubbed a little harder than was necessary, and didn't finish until the water was no longer even warm. But he stayed in there anyways, shaking more from his mental turmoil than the actual cold. He wasn't thinking, wasn't doing anything. Just existing. Just breathing. That was all he could manage.


	4. Chapter 4

Shaun stood in the bedroom for a moment, the slam of the bathroom door echoing loudly in the following silence. His instincts told him to go explain, through the door if necessary, but Desmond's expression kept him rooted firmly in place. Desmond had looked horrified once he'd realized what Shaun had nearly done. Shaun himself couldn't even explain what he'd been thinking. Had he really thought that he could come in here and fuck the omega in heat without any temptation to claim him whatsoever? That he must somehow be above his own baser instincts, the master of his own biology? Shaun rubbed his forehead for a moment, sighing heavily. He couldn't leave this half-finished - it could be detrimental to Desmond's health, at this point - so he'd just have to keep better control of himself from here on out, no matter what it meant he had to do. 

He heard the shower turn on, and took that as his cue to move. They'd need food, and Desmond was in no state to arrange it. He glanced at his watch; it was barely past eight in the morning. There was a small chance he'd be able to avoid both the girls this early, and he hoped he could, as he was in no mood to try and explain anything. But he'd told himself he would be prepared for any consequences, so he'd just have to man up and face them somehow. He wasn't exactly presentable, so he sacrificed his pants to wipe himself down a little before pulling on the rest of his clothes. If he did run into the girls, his going commando would be the least of his concerns.

He listened at the door for a minute before he was satisfied that they weren't lingering in the hallway before he stepped out, and a quick glance around showed no one in sight. He didn't run into either of the girls on the way to the kitchen, but he didn't linger. As quickly as he could, he scraped together some sandwiches, grabbed some fruit and two glasses of water, before he made his way back to Rebecca's room. Only once he was inside the room did he relax, setting the food on the desk. 

The shower was still running, so he paced for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order. He couldn't believe he'd lost himself so much in the heat of the moment. He couldn't believe Desmond had responded to his overture, had bared his neck completely at the first touch of Shaun's teeth. But of course he had! Desmond was presenting, he'd never experienced any of this before! He probably had no idea what Shaun had been doing until he was already on the floor. He'd responded so beautifully to everything Shaun had done - of course he'd respond to that, too.

But Shaun hadn't planned it. He hadn't meant to initiate anything like this. He knew now that they were extremely compatible - enough for him to nearly initiate a bond - but he hadn't come in here intending to bond to someone he barely knew! It was just supposed to be sex, and it bothered him that he'd lost control between last night and this morning. It bothered him that he didn't consider breaking into this room at all as the first sign of his losing control, but he skated over that thought only briefly before returning to his previous train of thought; he gave himself a set of orders he refused to disobey. He would not do anything like that again. He'd service Desmond like the sex-workers did, make it impersonal, but satisfying. He could do that. He _could._

It took him a while to realize that Desmond had been in the shower way too long. He'd been pacing for what, ten, fifteen minutes? And the time to make the sandwiches, before that... Shaun frowned and knocked on the bathroom door. When he got no answer, he called out. "Desmond? Desmond, is everything okay?" He gave the man a few moments before knocking again. "Desmond, if you don't respond in ten seconds, I'm coming in."

There was no answer to that, not after fifteen seconds, so Shaun opened the door. "Desmond, you alright?," he asked, but when he saw Desmond still standing in the shower, unmoving under the cold spray, he knew the answer to that was definitely not 'yes'.


	5. Chapter 5

Desmond didn't hear the door open, didn't hear his name being called. Didn't register someone turning off the water or drying him off. It wasn't until a robe was being pulled on him that he finally came back to himself, surprised to see Shaun. He jerked back out of instinct, but Shaun just pulled him back, calmly finished tugging the robe onto him and tying the belt. 

"Let's get some food into you Desmond, we're not done yet," he said resolutely, and Desmond frowned but followed him anyways. What could he even say? Shaun sounded like this was a chore he'd have to struggle through, and Desmond couldn't even be grateful. Shaun led him into the bedroom, where two plates were waiting, sitting on Rebecca's desk. "You eat, Desmond, I'm going to shower," he said, and soon shut the bathroom door behind him. Desmond ate the sandwich on his plate, and the fruit, and finished off the water easily. He could already feel the itch returning, and for a moment he was so blindingly angry that he wanted to throw the plate and the glass, wanted to destroy something, anything. But he didn't. He'd learned long ago that such impulses never solved anything, they only caused more problems - so he just sat there, curling his hands into fists until he calmed down. 

By the time Shaun was done with his shower, Desmond was slick again, was starting to sweat and he wanted to move to the bed and just touch himself again (or better yet, for Shaun to do more than just touch him), but he was clean and the sheets were clean and he didn't want just as much as he wanted. He'd never been so confused in his life and he _hated_ it. But Shaun took one look at him, then stripped the robe off him and led him to the bed. Desmond knew he should wait, knew he should say something about Shaun's own meal that was waiting, but Shaun was already pushing into him, filling him again and it was just so much easier to let go and do what his body wanted than to think about anything at all.

========

That session, if 'sessions' were defined as the time between sex being initiated and Desmond being finished in one way or another, was actually worse for Desmond than trying to please himself had been - and that had been _awful,_ because satisfying himself had actually been impossible. Shaun fucked him, but didn't say anything, didn't run his hands over Desmond's body like he couldn't help it. Shaun didn't praise him at all, or use his mouth in any way other than to pant or grunt softly. And Desmond knew exactly why that was, and hated himself for causing this. Despite his mental exhaustion and his determination, his detachment lasted all of a few moments before he was wriggling under Shaun's hands, moving his hips to meet him, but it was nothing like before. Desmond felt like he was burning up, but somehow, Shaun had become cold.

He'd thought that if he stopped trying to think, it would be easier, somehow. Or maybe that it would feel better. He wouldn't have to be ashamed or embarrassed because it was just his body, he clearly couldn't help it. But it hadn't worked; it wasn't easier, it didn't feel better, and he was still ashamed.

Desmond came, more than once, even, but that itch never went away. Shaun was thorough, his hands moving Desmond this way and that, changing angles and positions, but Desmond was getting frustrated and sore and upset. He didn't want this, hadn't asked for this, but if he had a choice, he'd rather have Shaun like before, passionate and forceful and full of an obvious desire, an overwhelming hunger. His own needy response had been embarrassing, yes, but it _had_ felt good; it had all felt good, just like Shaun promised. And that quiet moment, when Shaun had been asleep... Desmond still didn't know what to make of it, but it had been kind of nice. He'd felt safe. Cared for, or at the very least, taken care of.

But this was nothing like that. Shaun had been fucking him for what felt like hours, and Desmond was shaking with a need he was becoming quite familiar with, and already hated. He was on the verge of another orgasm , but he didn't want it, not like this, though there was no way to articulate this at all. He barely knew what he wanted, so how could he know how to ask for it? When he finally came, it was with a pained sob, and he fell to the bed, exhausted. He was worn out, but not satisfied, the buzzing in his head too thick to think through. Shaun pulled out of him, and he heard the wet, slick noises of him jerking his cock before he heard the soft grunt, felt the wet splashes of Shaun's come on his back. He couldn't even muster surprise for being disappointed at that.

========

Desmond didn't sleep, not really. He dozed, off and on, and it certainly wasn't restful. He could feel Shaun nearby - maybe it was scent or something - but Shaun wasn't on the bed, wasn't within reach. Shaun had cleaned him up earlier, and then stayed silent, just out of Desmond's line of sight. He wasn't even sure why he thought being able to see or touch Shaun would help, but it was finally too much for him to take. He lifted his head and spotted the red hair at the foot of the bed; Shaun was leaning against the wall, slouching so Desmond couldn't see his face.

"Shaun," he said, and even to his ears, he sounded like shit. 

Shaun's only response was a twitch.

"Shaun, please," he tried again. "Just...get up here. I need to sleep."

At that, Shaun did lift his head, peering at Desmond like he was somehow dangerous, and yeah, that hurt, but Desmond was too exhausted to let himself care. "Please," he repeated, and Shaun narrowed his eyes, but he moved. He let out a sigh as he stood and made his way to the bed.

"Budge over, then," he murmured, and Desmond shifted, realizing that Shaun wanted the spot nearest the edge, to make leaving the bed easier. But once he'd moved, Shaun settled in to the bed easily enough, and it was here that Desmond hesitated, for too many reasons than he could name at the moment. Shaun growled and pulled him closer, shifting Desmond until they were both comfortable, and that was what shocked Desmond. He was comfortable like this, pressed against Shaun, head pillowed on his arm again. This time though, he was facing Shaun, and it was almost unbearably intimate. He shifted to face the wall instead, his back pressed to Shaun's side, and he felt Shaun relax. 

It hurt, it did, the knowledge that Shaun really didn't want to be here. Was it loyalty to the Assassins that kept him here? Worse, was he just following orders? But Desmond was finally relaxing, and he felt Shaun's other hand move to brush his knuckles along his spine - from just below his neck to just between his shoulder blades. Only a few inches of willing contact, but that was all Desmond apparently needed, because he fell asleep within a few minutes.

========

When Desmond woke, he was once again alone on the bed. He was so wet, he was _aching,_ but somehow he felt more clearheaded in this state than he'd been before. He sat up, looking around until he spotted Shaun, who was pacing near the door. He'd put his pants on, but Desmond couldn't figure out why, because he was quite hard and it was clear he wasn't wearing underwear at all. He didn't seem to have noticed Desmond's waking, so Desmond shifted to lay fully on his back. "Shaun," he breathed, and he knew he sounded needy and breathless, because he was; he needed Shaun to fuck him, to take him like before. Having experienced the alternative, he'd even beg if he had to. "Shaun, please."

Shaun stopped pacing then, jerked out of his thoughts and he stared at Desmond, wild-eyed and hungry. The intensity of that look made Desmond's pulse stutter, and he was already shifting, spreading his legs. "Shaun, please," he said. "Please, _please,_ fuck me, like before. Touch me, taste me, _talk to me,_ " he said, hips rocking, cock bobbing with his movements. He was still sticky and sweaty, and he knew it, but Shaun hadn't minded that first night. Of course, that only reminded him that Shaun had just been responding to his hormones or whatever, so Desmond felt compelled to continue. "I know I shouldn't ask that, I know it's not right, I know you don't really want me, but please," he breathed. "I can't take it, you said you'd take care of me." He knew he was babbling, knew he couldn't hold Shaun to a promise made under chemical duress, but he couldn't shut up, he needed this. He _needed_ what Shaun had promised, what he'd started to deliver only to deny him.

Shaun was still staring at him, but with surprise this time. He'd relaxed only slightly, hands no longer clenched into fists. "Desmond, you think I don't _want_ you?," he asked, and he let out this sharp laugh that only confused Desmond further. 

"Yeah, I know, okay, just...please. Please. If you can't, then...then don't. Just go, I'll just, I'll just touch myself, I can do that," he murmured, one hand already moving to demonstrate. He could take care of himself if Shaun wouldn't. He couldn't satisfy himself, he knew that, but he didn't want Shaun to feel bad. It was his fault, after all, his hormones that drove the man to come here in the first place. 

His fingers had only barely pushed into his slick asshole before Shaun was there, pulling his hand away. "Christ, Desmond, no. No, you're right, I made a promise. I will take care of you," he said, but his expression was stern, distant. Desmond ached, yes, but it wasn't overwhelming, and he was suddenly so _angry._

"No. You know what? Fuck you, Shaun," he growled, sitting up and yanking his hand back. "I know you're only here because you have to be, alright? Is it just hormones, or are you following orders? You can clearly control yourself now, so...just leave. Lock the door, go somewhere else, just don't... don't touch me if you don't really want me," he said, and he'd lost his steam somewhere, lost his point, and he felt fucking pathetic, but how could he deal with this? He couldn't think straight at all, _nothing_ made sense! He was really goddamn tired of this whole theme park of fucked up; the emotional, mental and physical rollercoasters he seemed to be cycling through. "I mean, if you don't want to be here. I don't _need_ you, and I don't want you." That wasn't entirely true, but he definitely didn't want Shaun like he'd been last night. Or earlier today, whenever. Desmond had no idea how time was working anymore.

Shaun looked as if he'd been slapped, mouth hanging open, hands moving as if he couldn't figure out what to do with them. "I'm not. I'm not here just because of your heat. I mean, I am, but I wanted this. I could have ignored it, but I didn't. Desmond, fuck, I want you, I want to be here, alright? Let me take care of you. I'll do it right, I promise," he said, but he stayed right there by the bed; he didn't touch Desmond, didn't even reach for him.

That actually reassured him, that Shaun knew he could just touch Desmond a certain way and make him mindless, but he didn't. He was _asking,_ and Desmond finally nodded. "Yes, alright, yes, _please,_ Shaun," he breathed, but Shaun was already on him with the first syllable he uttered. His hands were on Desmond's shoulders and he settled next to him on the bed, already licking at his neck again. No teeth this time, but Desmond wasn't going to complain. Not with Shaun's fingers raking down his chest gently, especially over his nipples; not with those hands pressing his hips down into the bed, preventing Desmond from moving too much (which, until very recently, was not even a kink he knew he had); not with Shaun telling him how good he tasted, how hot he was, how much he wanted to fuck him again.

"Christ, look at you, look at you, Desmond. So hot, so hard for me, would you like me to touch it?," he asked, and Desmond whined softly, hips jerking against Shaun's hands. "Ahh, not yet, not yet," and Desmond frowned at him, attempting to buck his hips again, but fuck, Shaun was strong. He hadn't forgotten, not precisely, but it was still strange to have that strength turned against him, so unexpected and yet, so very, very hot.

"Shaun, please don't tease me. Not now, later, you can do anything you want to me, just...I need you to fuck me now, okay?," Desmond asked, barely aware of what he was saying, eyes closed because he couldn't bear to see Shaun looking at him when he felt so desperate, still embarrassed despite himself. He'd been clearheaded only a few moments before, but now he couldn't think for the hands on him, couldn't concentrate on anything other than Shaun; Shaun's hands, his mouth, his _cock_ for god's sake! He wanted all of it, all of him, and the fact that he didn't have it all _right now_ was absolutely the worst travesty in the universe.

Shaun paused, his hands releasing Desmond's hips, and Desmond felt the bed shift when Shaun moved. Moved _away,_ which was the exact opposite of what he'd wanted, so Desmond opened his eyes. Shaun was looking at him critically, and Desmond opened his mouth to ask a question, but Shaun just nodded, like he'd solved something. "You're right," he murmured. "Yesterday was awful for you, wasn't it?," he asked, and Desmond nodded. 

"It was," he said. "It was the _worst,_ Shaun, make it up to me. Now. _Fuck me,_ " he demanded, and maybe telling Shaun he'd sucked yesterday wasn't the right move, but Shaun laughed softly, in a way Desmond knew he'd never heard before, and definitely wanted more of. But Shaun was moving between his still-spread legs, the familiar heat of his prick resting against Desmond's balls for a moment. He thrust a few times, and Desmond gasped at the strange sensation, rocked into it. "Not...not enough, Shaun. More, God dammit! Fuck me! Like you _mean_ it!," he spat, or tried to, but it just came out as desperate as everything else he'd said.

Shaun laughed again. "As you wish," he murmured, and shifted his cock lower, nudging at Desmond's asshole. He paused just long enough for Desmond to take a breath to berate him before he shoved himself in, the full, thick length of him in one long, harsh thrust. Desmond's complaint turned into a heartfelt groan instead, shifting himself to lay back more fully just so he could arch his back, cant his hips to get Shaun even deeper inside him. "Just so, Desmond. Maybe I should let you fuck yourself on my cock," he murmured, and that sounded _great,_ it sounded so hot, but Desmond knew he didn't have that kind of coordination at the moment.

It was easy, like this, to let go and say what he wanted. Easy when Shaun was smiling at him, touching him, filling him up like he so desperately needed to be filled, like it wasn't wrong to need it. "No no no. Not now. No, Shaun, fuck me. Hold me down and fuck me!" Desmond hadn't meant to say all that, exactly, but it was true, and that was okay because Shaun did as he asked. Shaun's grin turned wicked, and his hands slid up Desmond's body; up his chest and over his shoulders, down his arms and to his hands, which he pulled over Desmond's head, resting just above him on the pillow. Then he shifted, one hand covering both of Desmond's wrists, and Desmond just had to test it; he wriggled, tugged at his hands, but Shaun's grip was firm. 

"As you wish," he repeated, and fuck, maybe it was his words, or the smile that accompanied them, but that set Desmond on _fire._ He was rocking his hips up into Shaun, he was moaning loudly, he was shameless and wanton and he _didn't care._ It was great, it felt good, he wanted all of it. He wanted _more._

"Oh, fuck, Shaun! I... yes, fuck me, fill me up, more," Desmond knew he was babbling, he was begging, but it didn't matter because Shaun was doing exactly as he'd wanted. His free hand was wandering Desmond's body, teasing a nipple occasionally, or giving fleeting touches to Desmond's cock, or touching his neck or his thigh or his lips. Desmond didn't want to look away now; Shaun's eyes were still somewhat guarded, but intent; he was still grinning, he was touching Desmond precisely as he needed without being guided. 

He was so caught up in the feel of it, finally so good and so right, that he wasn't even aware of his first orgasm creeping up on him. Desmond let out a startled yelp, hips bucking against Shaun wildly as he came, gasping from the surprise and pleasure in it. With the memory of his last exhausted orgasm from before, the relief from this one was so great he was actually almost senseless after, laying boneless as Shaun rocked him through it gently. He had no idea how long he lay there like this, Shaun just barely moving inside him, but when he regained his consciousness, he grinned up at Shaun. "Fuck, yes," he breathed, hands still pinned over his head. "C'mon, Shaun, is that all you got?," he murmured, arching his back, already ready for more.

"Not at all, Desmond," Shaun replied, his grin turning wicked again, and Desmond wished he'd been paying attention, because he hadn't even noticed how it had changed. He pulled out and released Desmond's hands, and Desmond would have protested, but Shaun was turning him over, pushing him down into the filthy bed and slammed back into him quickly. Desmond yelped again, and Shaun brought one hand to Desmond's hip, the other pressing between his shoulders. "I'll give you exactly what you asked for, pet," Shaun murmured, deep and silky. "I'm going to hold you down. And I'm going to fuck you."

Desmond agreed with that promise, tipping his hips back in invitation, but Shaun only pushed them back down and set a harsh rhythm. It was perfect, everything Desmond needed, and he was no longer capable of talking, really, just a lot of moaning and begging and shaking with pleasure. But Shaun didn't quite let him come this time. He held off, his rhythm slowing every time Desmond got close, until Desmond was a mess of nerves and need. "Please, please, Shaun," he begged, but when that got no results, he spat out, "Fuck you!," and tried to move, but Shaun was true to his word, holding Desmond so he couldn't move at all. 

"Nope," Shaun retorted, sounding far, far more composed than was fair at all, given the circumstances. "Fucking _you._ " He laughed again and Desmond growled. 

"Goddammit, Shaun!," he spat, and it actually sounded a little bit angry, but, he had to admit, mostly desperate. 

"Bossy," was the retort, but Shaun stepped up his thrusts, and Desmond arched again and shivered. That was it, that was _perfect,_ and Shaun wasn't stopping this time...!

"Fuck, yes, yes, Shaun!," he gasped as he finally came, and he felt Shaun's cock swell inside him, actually felt the knot at the base, but Shaun didn't push it in, no matter how Desmond bucked back at him. He hadn't actually realized he wanted it, but he did, he wanted the stretch and burn of it, the feeling of completion that came with it. But Shaun was still holding him down, and Desmond's energy was sapped by his own orgasm, so he rode out Shaun's, the warmth inside him good enough for now. 

Desmond relaxed on the bed, surprised he felt so sated after only two orgasms, but his mind also hadn't been as cloudy as before, either. Shaun pulled out of him softly, and grabbed something to wipe them both off, gently cleaning Desmond's ass and thighs before he flopped onto the bed next to Desmond, knuckles running up and down his spine again.

"Fuck," Desmond breathed, not drowsy, but not exactly awake either. 

"I'm sorry," Shaun murmured, and he seemed tense, but he didn't stop touching Desmond. "I shouldn't have done this."

Desmond cracked open one eye to look at him, and Shaun looked pensive. He had a feeling he knew exactly what this was about. "You said you could have ignored it?," he murmured. "Is that what this is about?"

Shaun sighed, and didn't meet Desmond's eyes. "I'm on suppressants. I could have ignored your pheromones entirely. I mean, they affect me still, make me edgy, make me want, but I.. I was in control when I made the decision to break into your room and ah, 'help' you. Only I made it worse for a little bit, there. Sorry for that, too."

"Wait, so...why, then? If you could have ignored me, why didn't you? I... I thought I was making you do this. W-were you following orders?," he snapped, shifting away from Shaun's touch to sit up and stare at him. Once again, anger blindsided him, and he was tired of it, so tired of it, but hell, it was here and he was feeling it. "Operation: Keep Desmond Satisfied so he doesn't run away or go back to Abstergo or something?"

"What? No, Jesus, Desmond, no!," Shaun retorted, clearly disturbed by the allegation. He sat up, as if to address the accusation more seriously. "First, the Mentor would never issue orders like that. We fight for _freedom,_ Desmond! Second, if the Mentor had any idea you were an omega, he probably would have reassigned me, fuck," he said, and at that, he did look shocked for a second, as if this had never occurred to him. Desmond wanted to ask what that was about, but Shaun continued. "No, Desmond, I made the choice to do this on my own, whatever the consequences may be. I wanted to. I...wanted this," he said, and his voice was quiet for a moment, hesitant. "I shouldn't have, though. I knew what I was doing. You had no idea what was going on."

Desmond relaxed for a moment, but didn't move closer to Shaun. "You...just wanted me because I was in heat?," he asked, not sure how he felt about that. Of course they barely knew each other, but that rankled. He kind of wanted Shaun to like him, sure, but respect was on the list too, and that seemed impossible now. "I mean, of course, yeah."

"Not entirely," Shaun murmured. "You...I mean, Jesus, you have to know you're hot," he said, eyes raking up and down Desmond's body. Desmond, of course, felt anything but, covered as he was in sweat and sex, mussed and filthy. "And I knew...I could make it better for you. Easier to bear. I fucked up in the middle there, but...it was better, for the most part, right?"

Desmond sighed. "Yeah, it was. Mostly. That middle part really was shit. You wanna explain that?," he asked, settling against the wall, stretching his legs in front of him. He still hadn't moved closer to Shaun yet, but this was better, they could look at each other clearly like this. 

"Not...really," Shaun looked away, and Desmond would swear that he looked guilty.

"You can't pull that now, Shaun, what happened? I mean, things were...pretty great, really. Did I do something?," he asked quietly. "I mean, I got the alpha version of the 'talk' from Ezio's dad - which was awkward as hell, by the way...wait, did Becca tell you what happened?," he asked.

Shaun laughed and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "She explained everything. Kind of had to." His lips twisted wryly.

"Yeah, I...I guess. But look, I just...Ezio was an alpha, not an omega, so I mean...it's not like I had any warning. Not like I knew anything about what was happening. What...I might have done...?," he asked, and Shaun looked pained at that.

"You didn't do anything, Desmond. It was all me, alright? I crossed a certain line, and...well, in trying to correct that, I went too far the opposite direction. I almost just left you to your own devices, but I thought it'd be better if I still...helped."

"Yeah, that wasn't helping. That was worse than the first day, on my own," Desmond murmured. "But...y'know, the other stuff, that was... that was really good. Is it always like this?," he asked. 

Shaun shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not an omega, so I don't know what it's like for you, not really. The first time is always intense, but generally, I believe the answer is yes. Your body is being flooded with chemicals and biological urges, and you can't really do anything but submit to them. It's best with a good partner. There's an industry around it, though, for both sides. Underground, of course, and that's how I had to deal with my ruts before the Assassins supplied me with suppressants."

Desmond just nodded slowly, but he wasn't really comforted by that. "Suppressants? So I don't have to go through this multiple times a year?"

Shaun laughed softly. "Nope. Now that we know, you'll be given the best suppressants we can get our hands on. Nothing Abstergo's manufactured, I promise."

"So...you're on suppressants? If you weren't....?"

"If I wasn't, I would have been on you that first morning. In that room, no matter who was there, no matter what we were supposed to be doing. Alphas are just as susceptible to our biology as you. No matter what you or I would have wanted... That's the problem, see? If I hadn't been on suppressants, it would have been different. But this? I knew better. I knew you were basically helpless. I took advantage, Desmond. There's a word for that." He didn't elaborate, it was clear he knew Desmond could put the pieces together. Shaun's expression was closed off and he was looking towards the opposite wall, didn't even try to meet Desmond's eyes.

Desmond didn't know how to take that, and almost felt too goddamn tired to think about it. It rang true, and yet... he didn't really regret how things had turned out, at least, not in the way Shaun clearly expected him to be. He supposed that didn't really make it okay, either, though. Shaun made the decision knowing he couldn't really do anything one way or the other. Even if he'd objected strenuously, his body would have caved. Shaun let him think for a moment, and Desmond knew it wasn't really so he could face whatever decision Desmond came to; Desmond could feel the itch wasn't gone entirely, and Shaun must know it. He was sticking around, but Desmond thought that if he told Shaun to go, he would. He decided to test it.

"If I asked you to leave now, would you?," he asked quietly, looking at Shaun closely, who turned to look at him again.

"I would," he said. "I was and am ready to accept whatever outcome you decide. If you hate me, that's...that's understandble - I'd expect it, even. My motives were completely selfish. The outcome wasn't, entirely, but that doesn't make what I did right. I knew that going in, and I still did it. I'm not exactly a good person," he added with a sharp laugh, like the one he'd given earlier. It was an awful sound, and Desmond hated it, but didn't have the energy to spare to really examine it or the motives behind it.

Instead, Desmond shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But...I'm not upset. Not right now. I'm just...tired. It's too much to sort out right now. Maybe I'll be angry later," he added, because he honestly didn't know. 

Shaun nodded, though, and smiled softly. "Yeah, that's fair," he said, and he seemed so relaxed finally, like this had been weighing on him despite his casual admission to accepting any outcome. "You're near the end, I think. It would have been days longer if I hadn't helped, you know. But from here on out, you make the calls, alright? Now that you can."

Desmond ducked his head, suddenly shy. "Really?," he asked, and honestly, why on earth should he be shy _now,_ after everything they'd already done? But he knew there were things he wanted, things he'd imagined before even the incident that started this. Maybe...

But Shaun smiled. "I won't hold you to anything you've said, you know," he said. "Nothing said during a heat or rut is ever to be taken seriously." Of course, that reminded Desmond of what he'd said earlier, when he'd been desperate, _'You can do anything you want to me later'._ He felt his body flush with heat, embarrassment and want in equal measure again. 

"I uh, yeah. I just...I," he paused, and thought about what he was trying to say. What it meant. "I trust you," he said after a moment. He knew he sounded like he was surprised about it, because he was. Shaun just admitted to doing something terrible, but right now, Desmond still trusted him. "I do. I trust you. You... you keep your promise to me, and we're square, Shaun."

Shaun laughed, this time a much nicer sound. "Yeah, alright, I can do that," he said. "Still. We're gonna have a real talk when we're not so ...compromised, alright? You can change your mind later, I won't hold you to anything you say during heat, even now."

Desmond nodded. "Yeah, sure, just give me some time to come to terms with all of this," he said, letting out a sigh. This was nothing like he imagined, and compared to the whole underground war and possible alien influences or whatever, it was pretty damn insignificant, but it still was something he'd have to adjust to.

"Understood," he said. "I should probably try to get us more food. And maybe new sheets...," he murmured, but then glanced around as if he'd never given a thought to where they were. "Oh, fuck, Rebecca's gonna kill us," he said, slumping against the wall. Her room was a disaster area, with clothes thrown everywhere, sheets and pillows and furniture not where she'd intended them, nor in the state she'd last left them. Not to mention their combined fluids in places where they were definitely not supposed to be.

But Desmond laughed, because that was literally the least of his worries right now. It was helpless laughter, but it felt good, and Shaun watched him for a moment before joining in, quieter but no less honest. "I'll clean this all up, Desmond," Shaun murmured when they'd quieted. "I'll take care of that, too." 

Desmond nodded. "Yeah, good," he said. "I kind of want another shower, but... umm, we're not quite done," he said, and Shaun nodded. 

"Look, you bathe. I'll get us more food, yeah?" With that, Shaun climbed off the bed and grabbed his pants to put them on. He found his shirt and pulled it on, and fuck, he was wrinkled and mussed and Desmond was surprised that he still wanted him. He wasn't sure it had anything to do with his hormones or whatever, just...Shaun looked good like that. He cleaned up the room a little bit and Desmond just watched, a strange warmth filling him as he sat there. It had nothing to do with the urgent need of his heat, to be filled and taken, and more to do with that quiet night, with Shaun's arms around him. It was about his soft laugh and the gentle brush of his knuckles against Desmond's skin. 

More than anything else, that was what made Desmond uncomfortable and nervous, so he crawled out of bed, a bit gingerly now that he was aware of his soreness, and made his way to the bathroom without a word. He kind of tried not to think too much about Shaun while he was there, about his admission of guilt and the way he'd looked at Desmond that morning, the startled heat and want in his eyes. Tried not to remember the way he'd wanted Shaun's knot to fill him, wanted his hands on him, wanted that quiet laugh he'd never heard before, but he failed at all of it. He didn't even know Shaun, he knew that, and yet... he wanted. He wasn't sure exactly what, but he wanted it so much.


	6. Chapter 6

Shaun made his way to the kitchen, with much less urgency and no attempt at stealth this time. The girls certainly knew what had happened by now, and he considered it an educated guess that they would make themselves scarce until it was over. Either because they were afraid of what he'd do if confronted, or maybe they imagined him in a state - perhaps in a hormone-induced rut - which of course was not the case. He could admit that maybe it wasn't as ridiculous for them to think as it might have seemed, but he hadn't wanted to examine his motives again when Desmond had asked, and he certainly didn't want to do so now. As for the girls, he didn't run into them, nor did he see any sign of them in the main room when he glanced that way. And both his and Lucy's doors were shut when he passed them, no light or sound to indicate they might have occupants. It was possible they decided to weather this elsewhere, but that wasn't likely, not with Lucy's previous rant about safety.

In addition, there were clearly special leftovers placed in the fridge for them - _someone_ left cold brisket and rolls, already portioned generously onto two plates. They didn't have labels, but Shaun knew exactly who they were for. He smiled as he grabbed the plates and threw them into the microwave. He had time to think, despite himself, and honestly, he felt as if he 'd gotten off too easy. He wasn't just waiting for the other shoe to drop, he needed it. He felt guilty _now,_ and was genuinely surprised at how much it hadn't been present when he'd planned his break-in to Rebecca's room.

He knew he hadn't exactly been clear-headed, but neither was he in a rut. His suppressant hadn't failed, he was certain - he was still too lucid, and he knew what a rut felt like. But he'd lost control, that first night with Desmond, and hadn't regained it until he'd nearly gone too far. He'd certainly said some things that he hadn't really meant, but all alphas did when they were with omegas. He was still troubled by his attempted claiming, however, and by Desmond's reaction. Desmond didn't realize what he'd done. Hell, Desmond had thought _he_ had done something wrong, which was terrible, and Shaun knew he'd have to explain himself, but he'd do so when they were both free of this particular situation.

Today had been easy, though, had been _fun._ Desmond had responded so wonderfully to everything, had let go and let himself be taken care of, and it had been _good._ Better than good, even. It had been amazing. Better than any of Shaun's previous experiences, by far. But his mind was still stuck on before, on the huge, _huge_ transgression he'd nearly made. Not just the attempt at making a claim, though he'd never done that before, but rather that he'd never wanted to as much as he had in that moment, not with any of his partners. True, he'd only ever been with two other omegas during their heat, but it had never been like this. He felt a pull towards Desmond that he couldn't explain, and it kind of scared him.

Why was it so good with Desmond? Why did Desmond respond so well? Why did Shaun still want to claim him, want to bond with him, even _now,_ when he had to remind himself that he barely knew the man? He couldn't even believe he was considering it, but there were some that believed in ridiculous tales of those who were just _meant_ to bond, like it was some sort of soulmate thing (or fate, or whatever) but those stories were just that. Ridiculous fairytales. None of this was supposed to happen; he wasn't really supposed to be with the Assassins, and Desmond wasn't even supposed to be an omega! They were all accidents or coincidences or just completely unrelated events that could just as easily never have occurred. 

He was pacing in the kitchen, thoughts running in circles before he realized the microwave had beeped a while ago. He sighed and grabbed the plates and the drinks and made his way back to Rebecca's room. He hadn't even locked it this time, so he slipped in without any trouble. Desmond was already sitting at the desk, glancing up at Shaun's entrance, his hair still wet. He hadn't even bothered with a robe, just sat there naked, and Shaun felt his desire hit him with the force of a truck, leaving him a little shaky, and more than a little uncertain. 

He was fairly sure he didn't show it, though, and set the food on the desk without glancing again at the slightly wet, very naked, extremely hot man only a few feet away. "Looks like the girls took pity on us," he said, trying for light. "High in protein and carbs, for energy," he said, and his smile was genuine, if a bit tight. He was supposed to have _some_ control, remember?

Desmond just nodded, and kept his eyes on Shaun as he ate, and it was both disconcerting and really fucking hot. He didn't speak, just chewed slowly, watching Shaun with his dark eyes. Shaun couldn't help but return the gaze, and how on earth was this so erotic? They just ate in silence, watching each other, and the second their plates were clean, Desmond moved towards Shaun, and knelt in front of him, and there was no way this was going to happen the way it looked like it would. But Shaun said nothing, the moment stretched, and eventually Desmond's lips quirked in a smile. He was hard already - of course he was, he;d been halfway there before he'd even started eating. He could tell Desmond was interested as well; Desmond had made no move to hide himself while they ate, and he'd been just as affected as Shaun. His hands moved up Shaun's thighs and towards his zipper. Shaun still wasn't wearing any pants beneath his trousers, because they were balled up on the floor by the bed, sticky and too gross to wear. 

Finally, he found his voice. "Desmond, I haven't even _showered,_ " he began, and winced as he sounded more than a little panicked, but Desmond shook his head, smirking again, and that was just unfair. Jesus Christ, the man had to know the effect he had, there was no way he could look like that, and not realize what he was doing.

"Don't care," Desmond murmured, and then unzipped him. His cock popped free eagerly and Desmond smiled even wider at that, and god, that was hot, _incandescent_ hot. His had such full, fuckable lips, and that scar only served to draw attention to the fact; they would look so perfect wrapped around his prick. Shaun held his breath and spread his legs further, and Desmond met his eyes and licked his lips and Shaun let out an embarrassing noise he would deny to his dying breath. This wasn't how it was _supposed_ to go; he'd told Desmond he was in charge and he'd meant it, but he'd never imagined _this._ Well, yes, _of course_ he had imagined this before - because there was no way he couldn't imagine a man with a mouth like _that_ doing something like _this_ \- but he hadn't imagined Desmond's hungry eyes boring into him as he lowered his head towards Shaun's cock. He didn't take him in yet; instead, his tongue slid along the hot flesh slowly, easily, and Shaun had known Desmond had some experience, but he hadn't thought reality might even match his fantasies, much less surpass them. 

Desmond didn't break eye contact, not even when he shifted and slowly let his lips stretch over Shaun's prick. It was only when he couldn't take anymore in did Desmond finally close his eyes, moaning softly, and that made Shaun's cock twitch. He forced his hips to stillness because he was not going to repay this favor with his own impatience. He'd promised.

However, Desmond didn't move just yet; he just stayed there, breathing through his nose and sucking very slightly. His tongue slid against the underside of Shaun's dick, just barely, and he seemed so relaxed like that. Shaun couldn't tear his eyes away, wouldn't, watched when Desmond finally began moving, pulling back with that ever so slight suction. Desmond's eyes opened again, and he smiled slightly when he'd slipped his mouth free. 

"You know, I've thought of this," he confessed, and fuck, Shaun's cock twitched again, inches from Desmond's face. He knew his eyes widened, felt heat flood his face, but why on earth would a man like Desmond think about sucking _his_ cock? Desmond only chuckled at his reaction, though, shaking his head slightly. "You really...don't think it's possible? Your stupid condescending nerd thing really works, alright?," and that was of course impossible, because nobody liked condescending nerds. Well, not like this, at least, in Shaun's experience. There were, of course, a few (very few) exceptions, but seriously, Desmond was in another stratosphere of the social ladder, and in the 'real world' this could never have happened. Even Desmond had to know that.

But Shaun said none of those things, just shook his head mutely, because there was no fucking way he was going to talk about social status and the 'proper' order of things with Desmond's mouth a literal breath away from his prick, looking at him like _he_ was the hot one. Desmond just quirked his lips again before leaning forward and pressing a slow, gentle kiss to the head of Shaun's cock. Then a long, slow lick around the crown before he was taking it all in again, and holy _fuck,_ he was good at this. Shaun felt the whine in the back of his throat, and he tried to resist, he did, but it came out anyways, his whole body shaking with want. 

Shaun kept his hands clenched into fists, kept them forced to the arms of the chair he was in like they were tied there. He didn't know what Desmond liked, what he wanted...what he was getting out of this, even, but he certainly wasn't going to stop him. Desmond grabbed one of his hands, though, and brought it to his head, and Shaun let it stay there for a moment, just resting before he pressed, tangling his fingers in Desmond's hair, moving his hips ever so slightly. He was just testing, but Desmond moaned and closed his eyes, and Shaun realized just what Desmond's other hand was doing, and his hips moved again, nice and slow.

He honestly couldn't believe this was happening, not like this, but _Christ,_ it was good, Desmond was really moving his head now, sucking and slurping and drooling and looking as if there was nowhere he'd rather be. That was ridiculous and impossible, but fuck if it didn't work for him, and he gasped as he realized how fucking close he was already. "Desmond, stop, fuck, stop," he gasped, pulling at Desmond's hair, sharply.

Desmond came off him with a pop, and honestly looked offended that Shaun stopped him. "What?," he rasped, and Shaun knew that he had caused that, another shiver making its way down his spine. 

"Desmond, fuck, I'm close, do you really-"

"Yes. Fuck yes, I want it Shaun, I want it in my mouth, on my face, however you want to do it, but _this_ is what. I. Want," he growled, and apparently that was that, because he moved forward again to resume his rhythm, and honestly, that was all Shaun needed, too. His hand was back in Desmond's hair, using pressure only sparingly and gently, hips moving but with all the restraint he could muster. 

"Desmond, I'm close, I'm going to come. Desmond, _now!,_ " he hissed, and drove his hips forward again, but Desmond took it beautifully, swallowing around him and moaning loudly, his own arm working his cock even faster. Shaun kind of lost track after that, his orgasm crashing over him in waves before he slumped back into the chair, panting. He opened his eyes just in time to see Desmond come, head resting on Shaun's thigh, shuddering and groaning before he finally stilled, breathing just as heavily as Shaun. 

Shaun let his fingers brush through Desmond's hair, gently. This was really nice; he was comfortable like this, and of course, he had to worry about that too. How nice it was to have Desmond on the floor between his legs. How right it all felt, how Desmond had liked it, initiated it, even!

He refused to let his stupid brain ruin this, though, so he shifted, pushing Desmond off him gently. "What was that about, eh?," he asked, but kept his voice gentle.

But Desmond wasn't embarrassed or upset. "I like doing it," he said with a shrug, licking his lips, which were swollen and wet and _fuck,_ Shaun felt his cock twitch despite itself. Nothing could come of it, of course, not so soon, but the desire was there all the same. It seemed to not want to leave, and that was the real problem, wasn't it? "I wanted... I wanted to do it. I wanted...something that was for _me,_ not because of the heat. I... maybe I just wanted to see if I still liked it," he murmured. "Y'know, if that hadn't been changed, too."

Shaun sighed. "Yeah, of course, I was... I was just surprised," he murmured, feeling lame as hell. "You're ah, still..," he paused, trying to find a way to phrase it that wouldn't sound awkward or weird Desmond out. 

But Desmond laughed at his hesitance. "Still wet? Yeah. But it's barely an itch at this point. I mean, it's not gone, but almost. It kind of feels like the end of a cold, where you're still coughing, but only barely, and you know that you'll be over it by the afternoon," he said. "I...I'm not sure what's going to happen after this," he admitted, and Shaun nodded. 

"Yeah, it's... not as much will change as you think. Sure, it'll probably be awkward for a few days, the girls won't meet your eyes for a while... mine either, for that matter. Ah, but you'll be put on suppressants and you'll never have to go through this again unless you _choose_ to," he stressed. "It should always be a choice, Desmond, wherever possible. Your life, such as it is right now, will continue as it has. Animus, warehouse, shower, sleep," he said with a shrug. "Mine...might go very differently," he said, and didn't laugh as he wanted to, since it really, _really_ wasn't funny.

"You mentioned the Mentor?," Desmond asked, and Shaun did laugh at that. Desmond was pretty damn sharp when he wanted to be.

"Yeah. He will not approve of what happened here. What _I_ did," he added quickly, because of course Desmond bore no blame for this. "There will be some repercussions, I'm sure, I just don't know what," he said, and Desmond looked like he was going to ask, so Shaun held up his hand. "It could be a lot of things, Desmond. Anything from extra duties to reassignment. I don't know," he murmured, and tried to sound casual like he wasn't worried about it at all.

Desmond sighed. "I see," he said, and fidgeted awkwardly for a moment. "Can you um, can you use your mouth on me again?," he asked, and Shaun frowned. As far as segues went, that was pretty terrible, but it did forestall a conversation he didn't really want to have, so he went with it.

"But I haven't...," he began, but then he remembered. That first night, he _had_ used his mouth, but not the way Desmond just had. He couldn't help his grin, wicked and hungry, because he _was._ "Ah, of course I can, Desmond," he agreed. "Get comfortable," he murmured, and it was gratifying how quickly Desmond responded, moving to the bed and positioning himself with his ass in the air, legs already spread. "Eager, aren't we?," Shaun murmured, standing and moving to the foot of the bed, just so he could appreciate the view. 

Desmond gave an embarrassed laugh. "I...ah, yeah," he said. "No one's ever... I mean... I liked it. Please, Shaun," he breathed, and _fuck,_ Shaun could tell how much Desmond wanted it. He was shifting, rocking his hips, already hard again, and while Shaun wasn't, yet, he knew he would be, very, very soon. 

"Very well, then," Shaun murmured, moving onto the bed. "I'll take care of you," he breathed, his hands moving to Desmond's ass, kneading his cheeks, running down the backs of his thighs and then back up again. He really was unbelievably hot, and Shaun had intended at some point to make jabs about Desmond's weight and how he always got to lay down in the animus and then consume incredible amounts of food, but looking at him now, it really wasn't funny. Desmond's usual outfit consisted of loose jeans and a stupid hoodie - and it was stupid because he was really quite fit, tight and lean and flexible and gorgeous, _especially_ like this.

Shaun leaned forward, biting on one cheek and Desmond squeaked and shivered and spread his legs a little further. Shaun let his fingers run along Desmond's cleft, over his very slick arsehole, then down to rub at his perineum, which caused a moan and a twitch in that cock and _damn,_ Desmond was going to be the one who ruined _him._

That thought nearly derailed him, but he shook his head and shifted, brushing kisses towards his target, where Desmond obviously wanted his mouth the most, until he was tasting Desmond, tasting his slick, tongue running along the trembling muscle eagerly. Desmond didn't hold back his noises, breathless gasps and moans, trying to press backwards into the contact. That made things a little more difficult, so Shaun moved his hands to Desmond's hips, to hold him in place so he could do as he pleased. The sound Desmond made at that was both surprising and indecently hot, and Shaun remembered that earlier, Desmond had begged to be held down and fucked, had asked for it like he'd _needed_ it, and hadn't even thought about it, hadn't even known he'd wanted that.

"Christ," he moaned before leaning back in to nip just below Desmond's spine. That earned him an eager whine, and he smiled against Desmond's skin. He was freshly showered, but was already sloppy down here, wet and eager and Shaun let his tongue trail downwards again slowly. He was teasing, he knew, but the noises he got in return were worth it, increasingly desperate and needy.

"Fuck, fuck, Shaun, please," Desmond was begging already, a non-stop litany of pleading, and really, how could he not reward such good behavior? So he leaned in, tongue slicking over Desmond's already slick hole, lapping and teasing around the rim slowly. Then he pressed inward, ever so slightly. Truth be told, he loved doing this, loved the response it got, and while it wasn't always so, Desmond's taste was more than pleasing, clean and wet as he was. There were still traces of his own come, though, and that was the hottest thing about doing it now, that he could lick all inside Desmond and find traces of himself there. 

He moved one of his hands to tease Desmond's balls, to press against his perineum again, to slide his fingers teasingly along his cock. He didn't give Desmond very much stimulation there, and Desmond yelped and squirmed against his hold; Shaun really only needed the one hand to hold him, so Desmond couldn't move too much at all. 

"Jesus, Shaun," Desmond panted, and his cock was so hard, so hot against Shaun's palm. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!" Shaun smirked for a moment before he shifted his hand to press two fingers into Desmond as his tongue slid over him, into him, over and over. Desmond's noises increased in pitch and frequency, his body trembled, and Shaun realized that not only could he come like this, but he was going to in a few moments if Shaun let him.

Shaun wasn't going to deny him anything at this point, so he just fucked Desmond with fingers and tongue, letting his grip on Desmond's hip weaken so Desmond could rock back into him. He was surprised at how much this was turning him on - he was fully hard again, his neglected cock practically slapping against his belly with his own movements, precome slicking against his skin. But he wanted to give this to Desmond, wanted to make him come without touching his prick, and Desmond sounded like he was fully on board with that idea, so Shaun didn't stop at all when Desmond finally gave a loud cry, followed by a long-drawn out moan. He felt Desmond's arsehole twitch, but didn't stop, just gentled his movements incrementally until Desmond was flat on the bed, panting and loose-limbed with satisfaction.

Shaun sat up then, wiping his mouth as he just looked at Desmond, sprawled on the bed without any of the self-consciousness he'd had before. Desmond finally shifted, turning his head just enough to regard Shaun with one eye, lips curved into a smile. He looked like he wanted to say something, and Shaun waited, more tense than he'd like to admit - more tense than he'd like Desmond to realize. 

But Desmond sighed. "Jesus, Shaun," he breathed, sounding lazy and fulfilled and _shit,_ that was what did it. That was what ruined Shaun. Shaun shifted back, but Desmond reached out. He couldn't touch Shaun, not without moving more than he apparently wanted to at the moment, but the motion was enough to still Shaun. "I'm not done. I want you to fuck me, just...give me a minute," he said, and there was a laugh in his voice that matched the smile that hadn't left his lips, and Shaun didn't know what to do with himself. In that moment, he wanted Desmond, not just like this, but he wanted to lean forward and claim him. Not in the heat of passion; he wanted it now, wanted to stake his claim and make sure he could have this always, could have Desmond warm and lazy and satisfied and unmistakably, irrevocably _his._

That was like a bucket of ice water to all of his various desires, and he shifted back again, trying to keep his movements calm. He didn't want Desmond to worry, to think he had done something wrong. "I'm going to have that shower now, eh?," he said, hoping his voice was as light as he wanted it to be. "You just relax a bit, yeah?" This was not running away, it wasn't. Just a tactical retreat. He was more than used to those, these days, if not in this exact sort of situation. 

He must have succeeded, though, because Desmond's smile just widened. "Sure," he murmured, and shifted, looking for all the world like he could stay just as he was and remain content forever. 

Shaun left his clothes on the floor, though he did kick them out of the way, and once in the bathroom, he took a few moments to compose himself as the water warmed up. He inspected himself in the mirror, as if that might give him any insights into his own mind, but by the time steam was coming out of the shower, he had no more answers than he'd started with. 

He was usually quick and economical with his showers, but he lingered this time, hoping that the few moments he could snatch in here might somehow help him figure out his various issues, but of course that was doomed to failure and was absolutely no surprise whatsoever. He _was_ surprised, however, when the curtain pulled back briefly to admit Desmond into the shower, and it wasn't exactly a tight fit, but neither had the shower been designed with two people in mind. 

"Desmond?," he asked, but Desmond was grinning and pressing him into the cool tile so he could push under the spray. "What are you...doing?"

Desmond pulled back and wiped his face off, pushing his hair back so it spiked up slightly, and that was ridiculous on him, but...ugh, it was unfair how that actually didn't reduce his attractiveness at all. "Oh please, like shower sex isn't the best idea in the world ever," he said, and that laugh was back in his voice, and of course the idea was more than appealing, but Shaun hadn't figured out what he was going to do, yet!

"Normally I'd agree, Desmond, but...," he began, but of course he had no good, logical reasons why he shouldn't just fuck the hot man who'd basically just told him he should. Logic had not been his ally for a few days, now, and remained conspicuously absent.

Desmond's smile grew, even, like he expected resistance. "But...?," he asked, raising a brow. Shaun had lost his erection earlier, before his shower, but his cock definitely hadn't forgotten its previous interest, and suddenly, Desmond's hand was there, encouraging the little traitor along. "Shaun, I want you to fuck me. If you really oppose the shower, I suppose anywhere else will do, but y'know, cleanup would definitely be easier in here." 

Shaun didn't quite manage to hold back his breathy little squeak, and he glared at Desmond when he laughed. "But. Right now I'm not up to it," he growled. "I mean, it's fun, yeah, but exhausting and I'm already a bit worn out, yeah?," he said, and it was true enough, but it wouldn't have stopped him were he not so conflicted. Shower sex was awesome, but it was also a bit more intimate somehow, and Shaun wasn't sure he could take that right now. Not without doing other things that definitely shouldn't be done. He wondered if Desmond was consciously aware that they hadn't kissed, for that exact same reason. Too damn intimate. They weren't in a relationship, they weren't going to be, and it just...shouldn't happen.

Desmond looked thoughtful, then, but nodded. "Yeah, alright," he said. "Bed, then? I found her spare sheets and changed them," he said, going for coy, and Shaun couldn't help but laugh. 

"Yes, let's mess up another set of Rebecca's sheets, she'll love that," he said, but he turned off the water and reached for the towel, but Desmond beat him to it. Desmond 'helped' dry him off, lingering far more than was really necessary, but it was nice, actually. When Desmond reached to dry his hair, Shaun snatched the towel and rubbed his hair quickly before tossing it to the floor. "Well? You want the bed, go get on the bed," he growled, and it was satisfying to see how quickly Desmond's pupils widened, before he nodded, licked his lips, and darted off to the bedroom. Shaun heard the thump of Desmond clearly jumping onto the bed and chuckled. He waited only a few more heartbeats before making his way into the room.

He already knew this would be the last round, so he planned to try and savor it. He'd make sure it was amazing for Desmond, because he really should have good memories of his first heat, not remnants of Shaun's baggage. Desmond was splayed on the bed on his back, just laying there all casual-like, his cock only half-hard, but he looked _good._ Shaun's own prick gave a visible twitch, fully hard again already, and he moved towards the bed with purpose. Desmond watched him intently, spreading his legs slightly.

"How do you want it Desmond?," he asked, pausing at the foot of the bed. "Tell me what you want." He knew Desmond liked hearing him talk, liked his voice or his accent or whatever it was that seemed to work for him, but he'd make Desmond do the talking for now. He;d figured already that Desmond seemed to respond best to his authoritarian tones.

"Like this, Shaun. Just like this. I want to watch you fuck me." He was looking at Shaun, intent and so fucking sexy, but then he colored slightly and looked away. "I want...I want your knot," he said, a little quieter, and Shaun only barely kept from flinching. That was a bad idea, it was a _terrible_ idea, and he knew he'd do it anyways. 

"Alright," Shaun murmured, and moved to set on the bed, hands running up Desmond's legs. He started at his ankles and moved upwards, massaging slightly. He pushed, too, pushed them apart so he could move forward. Then from Desmond's knees, up his thighs to his hips, spreading him open. Desmond was relaxed and smiling, and his cock was firming slowly, responding to Shaun's touches. Desmond was still wet from the shower, but he was still slick, too, and Shaun let his fingers rub at his arse before pushing inside. Desmond was still so relaxed and Shaun's fingers slid in easily as Desmond shifted his hips upward, closing his eyes and breathing a little more heavily. 

"C'mon Shaun, give it to me," he said, and the color spread from his cheeks, a flush creeping down his neck and across his chest. It was really fetching, actually, but Shaun certainly wasn't going to tell him so. 

"Of course," he murmured, and stroked himself, spreading his own precome over his shaft, though Desmond was still more than slick enough for the both of them. He just looked at Desmond for a moment, breathless and wanting and waiting, legs splayed over Shaun's thighs, flushed and damp and fully hard again. Shaun directed his cock to Desmond's waiting hole, pushed in slowly. Once inside, his hands settled on the bed, on either side of Desmond, as he set a simple, slow rhythm. Desmond didn't encourage him to go faster; maybe he wanted to savor this, too. 

Not to say that Desmond was quiet, because he wasn't. He was letting out a stream of soft moans and gasps, his hips twitched but he was clearly restraining himself. His hands were clenching into fists in the sheets, and finally, he opened his eyes. He only met Shaun's for just a moment before they wandered down to where the two were joined, watched Shaun's cock slowly pump in and out of him. "Fuck, yes," Desmond breathed, as if he couldn't help it, and Shaun's hips jerked forward at that for a moment, before he finally resumed his steady rhythm. 

"Do you want to touch me, Desmond?," he asked, and he hadn't meant to, he really hadn't. But Desmond's eyes snapped back to his, and he nodded, the color on his face and neck and chest growing deeper. He looked shy as he reached for Shaun, hands starting at Shaun's wrists before moving upward, towards his shoulders, then down his chest. He kept his fingers splayed, his expression intent as his eyes followed his hands' progress over Shaun's body. 

"Shaun," Desmond breathed, and kept his hands on Shaun's shoulders, eyes boring into his, now. "More, Shaun," and he was helpless but to obey, moving faster and harder until he was jolting Desmond with his thrusts. But Desmond's gaze never faltered, and Shaun felt lost like this. But he didn't close his eyes, he didn't look away. Desmond seemed to be waiting for something, even as he began arching, rocking his body.

"Do you still want it?," Shaun asked, because he had to, he was so close - his knot was forming, and he wanted Desmond to change his mind, he wanted him not to. The whole bed was rocking, now, and Shaun was trembling with the effort of holding himself up, of keeping himself away from Desmond.

"Yes, God, give it to me!," Desmond growled, and Shaun finally had to close his eyes as he gave in, thrust harshly into Desmond as he started to come, and kept pushing, forcing his knot into Desmond's body and it was as good as the first time, just as _right_ as he remembered. 

"Fuck, Desmond. Take it, then," he gasped, but Desmond was, Desmond was coming on his knot, squeezing around him even as his come was streaking between them, on both of them. 

"Yes, yes, fuck yes, it's perfect, Shaun," he gasped. "I want it, give it to me," he chanted, even though Shaun already was, was giving him everything. The moment seemed to stretch, drawn out impossibly long, when his own orgasm was pulled and pulled from him; Desmond wasn't just accepting it, he was taking it, he'd demanded it, and Shaun wanted to give him all he had anyway.

But it ended eventually, and Shaun looked down at Desmond, who was panting and grinning up at him, sweet and sated and it made Shaun ache. He wanted to lower himself, regardless of the mess between them, but he didn't. He shifted back, kneeling as he shifted Desmond's leg so he could settle Desmond on his side, before taking his place behind him. This was easier, because there was less temptation this way. Not _none,_ of course, but less. 

He could tell that that was all that Desmond needed, that they were done. The sharp tang of his pheromones was no longer surrounding them; the heady scent of a sated omega was all he could sense. He couldn't exactly leave right now, though, and maybe that was what Desmond wanted, but Shaun didn't mind. He kind of wanted to draw this out as much as he could, because he was certain the fallout from his decision would be both terrible and immediate. 

But Desmond was still relaxed against him, and despite himself, Shaun found his fingers brushing against his skin, up and down his side, slowly. "So what will happen now?," Desmond asked, and Shaun shrugged. 

"Like I said, I'm not sure. The girls have probably already reported everything, honestly, so....the moment we emerge, we'll deal with the consequences. You'll be given suppressants as soon as possible, they'll probably have to run some tests to make sure ithis won't affect your animus use, but I imagine things will be back to 'normal' in only a couple of days."

"But you don't know what will happen to you," Desmond said, and it sounded flat, not really a question at all.

"No, I don't. Like I said, the Mentor will not approve of what I've done, of that I'm certain. Discipline isn't as simple as assigning heavier training - and we certainly don't employ capital or corporal punishment -. It all depends on how badly he takes my transgression. Which, I suspect, is going to be quite badly indeed. My best guess is that I'm going to be reassigned. And I'll probably get some of the less popular duties among Assassin Intel."

Desmond tensed at that, and honestly, Shaun couldn't really understand him. Sure, things hadn't been completely awful the whole time, but maybe he didn't realize the true depth of Shaun's actions just yet. "Does what I want matter at all?," he asked, and Shaun shook his head, though of course Desmond wouldn't see it. He knew that Desmond wasn't saying he wanted a hand in Shaun's punishment. He knew, despite how insane it was, that Desmond didn't want him punished at all.

"Not really. For all that we fight for freedom, we ourselves don't get very much at all, if you hadn't noticed. You'll get another historian, though of course they won't be as good as me-," he said, but it ended with a yelp because Desmond shifted to face him suddenly, and Shaun's cock was still stuck inside him, still sensitive, thank you very much.

"No. They won't be," he said. "Shaun, I... Look, I don't want you to be reassigned, okay? If it's possible, I want... I'd like you to stay," he said, and he looked away at that, settling back down with his back to Shaun, no longer quite so relaxed. 

"W-well, we'll probably have some sort of confrontation with the Mentor, so... you'll likely get your chance to plead your case," he said, and he wondered, then if Desmond knew who the Mentor was. He nearly asked, then realized that it probably wasn't the best move, with his prick still knotted into Desmond. It would be a while before he could extricate himself without discomfort to either of them. "Just don't be surprised if your wishes are ignored," he said. William wasn't always the most lenient, especially where it had concerned his son. Both he and Rebecca had been subject to a 'talk' about the consequences should they fuck up and Desmond somehow escaped them, or worse, went back with Abstergo.

"Look, that's hours away yet, just...relax," he murmured, and Shaun felt Desmond relax slowly. It wasn't too much longer before he slipped into sleep, and Shaun sighed and knew he'd follow in a moment. He'd certainly need all the rest he could get.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured a warning would be fair: the previous chapter ends the porn marathon - the next few chapters comprise a big part of the angst portion of the porn and feels fest. There will be more porn eventually, however, so don't lose hope!

When Desmond woke, he was alone. That wasn't really surprising, but it was disappointing. He felt both really good, and really disgusting. His body felt so relaxed and fulfilled, warm and loose like he couldn't remember being. But he was also sweaty and sticky and gross. The room had been righted while he slept, furniture put back, all evidence of their activities gone, except the sheets he slept on - but he saw a fresh set, folded neatly on the desk. He supposed he could manage that much, at least. Next to the sheets was a fresh change of clothing, also folded neatly. It was not his normal outfit, but he supposed those were being washed or something. They'd been on the floor, last he recalled, which was _days_ ago.

He showered first, taking his time, just reveling in how good he felt. He wasn't sore at all, which kind of surprised him, but it wasn't like he was going to complain. He put on the clean clothes, which were a little big, before changing the sheets. He gave the room a last once-over, and was surprised that he couldn't even smell any evidence of...anything that had occurred in the last uh, week? Shit, he had no idea what day it was. But he couldn't see anything that needed further straightening, so he gathered the soiled sheets and pillows before opening the door. 

There was a strange tension in the air, but he'd kind of expected that. He ignored the animus room, where he heard low murmur of conversations the participants were deliberately keeping quiet, and headed to the washing room instead. He put everything into the washer, noted that the dryer was working on a load already (hopefully his clothes), and finally headed upstairs again. 

The minute he walked into the room, the warm glow he'd been luxuriating in fled like he'd taken a dip in the arctic ocean. Oh, both the girls were there, and they spared him a glance each, sort of (like Shaun predicted, they didn't meet his eyes), but talking to Shaun was the last man he'd expected to see; his father.

"Dad!?," he couldn't help but shout, and at that, the two men turned towards him. His father didn't look happy, but honestly, Desmond couldn't recall him ever looking happy. This was just...much more not-happy than usual. He also looked a great deal older than Desmond remembered.

"Desmond," William returned, as cool as ever, and apparently that was how things were going to be. "How are you feeling?," he asked, like maybe he actually cared. Only not, because he didn't sound like a worried father, more like someone doing only what was expected of them, like reading lines off a teleprompter.

"I feel fine, what are you doing here?," he asked, frowning, but he looked at Shaun, and he _knew._ Shaun, who was now looking very intently at something on the other side of the room, and he knew what this meant. "Wait, _you're_ the Mentor?"

"Yes, Desmond, I am the Mentor - and as such, I've come to clean up this mess you've gotten yourself into," he said sharply, then took a deep breath, and seemed to reign himself in. Desmond was familiar with this pattern; his next words were going to come out in a way that William seemed to think was 'gentle'. "Not that this was your fault, of course. But we're going to have to deal with it all the same. I've already got a doctor on the way to check you over, make sure you're as well as can be expected, given the circumstances." At that last statement, he'd given a sharp glance over to Shaun, who still wasn't looking at anyone else in the room at all - but he'd tensed at the statement, clearly understanding what William meant.

"Look, Dad, that's fine, I'll have the checkup, but...the rest isn't necessary," he stated, but hell, this was worse than he expected. He didn't know how to negotiate with a leader he'd never met, but that's what he'd tried to prepare for. There was no way he could negotiate with his father; the man had never listened to him a day in his life!

"I'll decide what's necessary, Desmond," came the reply, and it gave Desmond a strange sense of deja vu, because he'd definitely heard those exact words in that exact tone multiple times during his young life. 

"Yeah, well, you're wrong," he said, and he'd had the rapt attention of the two girls since his entrance, but that earned him a pair of gasps. "Look, just get the suppressants, give me the checkup, and then let me get back to training."

"That's exactly the plan, Desmond," William replied, tightly. But it wasn't a concession, and Desmond knew it. "You will get back to your training. Only, Shaun's presence here isn't really required to do his job, and it would just...complicate things. We don't need complications, Desmond. You'll get someone, though, I'm not leaving you a man short for regular shifts and duties," he added, mostly to Lucy.  
If there was one thing he hated most about his father, it was how he always talked down to him, always said his name just so, like Desmond was so stupid he'd forget just who William was talking to. How he dismissed him the moment he considered himself done with Desmond. But as bad as dealing with all that was _(again)_ , the worst part was Shaun, who stood there like he was made of stone, and said nothing.  
"Shaun, are you just going to listen to him?," he demanded, and to his surprise, Shaun nodded, but refused to look at him.  
"Yes, I am. He is the Mentor, Desmond. That means we listen to him, and do what he decrees," he said, and his tone was sharp again, without the usual sort of humor beneath. Nothing like he'd been just...just last night, even, all relaxed and kind. "Look, it's...better this way, alright?," he asked, and it was much quieter, but still so...flat.

Desmond honestly hadn't expected how much that hurt. It wasn't just that Shaun was so accepting of his 'punishment', but that he really seemed to believe this was for the best. He'd been tense and awkward since Desmond entered, and he wouldn't look at him, even now. Desmond ached, an actual physical pain somewhere between his lungs and his stomach, but he refused to let Shaun see just how much it affected him, especially when Shaun himself seemed so unaffected, awkwardness aside. After all, it was just hormones, right? Everything either of them said or felt, they couldn't be held to it. 

"Yeah, alright, fine," he said, shrugging. He tried for casual, didn't know how well he succeeded, but Shaun's lips went tight, and William just looked smug.

Shaun turned to William and nodded. "I'll just finish packing my things, then," he said, a little too brightly, and walked past Desmond without a second look. Without even a first look, really. Fuck.

Desmond went to the kitchen, then, because he was hungry and because it was empty and because he wanted to appear like he wasn't affected by this at all. He threw some hot pockets into the microwave and made his way to the animus room when they were done, because he knew if he didn't, his dad would come to find him and want to have some terribly awkward talk. At least if the girls were around, maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

He was right, of course, because once he sat down to eat, William approached him. "You know, I'm told you're making good progress here," he said, and okay, that was good, that was neutral, maybe Desmond could get through this without killing either himself or his father. "Of course, none of this would be necessary if you hadn't run away in the first place. Good job on that, by the way. You evaded us very well. I tried to find you, but...well. Abstergo found you first." For a few moments, Desmond focused on breathing and chewing his food, didn't look at his father at all, but that lasted only until he swallowed. He'd never been able to keep his temper when it came to his father, and William seemed much the same concerning his son.

"Look, dad, I never wanted this. Any of it, okay? So what happens if I walk out? If I just leave? I'm sure Abstergo wants me, but I'm not exactly eager to be their guest again. I'll just be more careful in the future. I know how they found me, so I won't make that mistake again. I'm not going to be trained just to follow _your_ orders!," he spat, hands already curled into fists on the table. "It's not like you even _need_ me, you never did!"

That didn't phase William for a second. "Desmond, you cannot keep acting like a spoiled child! This isn't about _you_ , this is about all of us, about the world! You were born an Assassin, Desmond, it's time you acted like one!" But of course, no matter how much Desmond yelled, no matter what he said, William didn't _listen._ He never had, this was why Desmond had run away in the first place!

"I didn't ask to be born! I didn't ask to be your son! I just wanted to live a normal life! What difference can I make here? I'm not even properly trained, and the animus takes a bigger toll than I think you realize, _Dad._ What use am I if I'm as much a danger to my teammates as I am to our enemies?" Desmond hadn't exactly meant to reveal these fears of his, fears he kept secret inside the depths of his mind. But sometimes he wasn't himself, and that scared the shit out of him whenever he thought about it. He hadn't hurt anyone yet, but he'd read the database entries on previous subjects. He knew what would happen to him; it wasn't a matter of _if,_ just _when_.

William seemed to deflate at his words, though, and he sat down in another chair. For a moment, he looked so old, so weary, and so unlike the man Desmond knew. He gave a heavy sigh, running one hand through hair that had more gray then Desmond would have expected, if he'd ever spared much thought for his father, which was something he'd tried his hardest to avoid. "Desmond, you're wrong. We do need you. Our need is so great. Our position is desperate; we're losing this war, and every man counts. Even you. Especially you. I'm trying to keep you safe, to keep us all safe, but that was never your fate in this world. Please, Desmond. I'm not asking you to respect me or obey me as your father, but as your Mentor. If you can't do that, then you should let me know." For once, Desmond actually thought he might be sincere. He'd actually said _please._ It was kind of freaking him out. 

He had to swallow before he could speak. "Look, I'll... yeah, fine, I'll do what needs to be done," he said, and William offered a tight smile.

"I knew you would," he said, patting his shoulder as he stood. 

"What...would you have done if I said no?," Desmond asked, because he honestly couldn't not.

"Trust me, son, you don't want to know," he replied, and his expression was so haunted for a moment that Desmond actually believed him.

========

The doctor arrived before William left, because of course he'd stick around to hear the report on Desmond's health. There were all sorts of tests and questions he had to answer, and it was awkward, but Desmond learned a lot about his new Omega status, and the various ways it would impact his health. Things to look out for, signs of an oncoming heat, how to protect himself from unwanted Alpha advances, how a claim was made and a bond initiated. Also how to rescind any claims and refute any bonds in progress, though those all sounded awful enough, and the doctor told him that prevention, in this case, was so much better than the cure that he should always take extra, extra care. There were even pamphlets and websites for him to look over, since this was a lot of information to take in all at once. Ezio's talk covered almost none of this, but then again, science had advanced a lot in the five hundred years since, so maybe he shouldn't be surprised.

The one question he didn't ask, however, was about the ache he felt whenever he thought about Shaun. When he remembered how right it had felt then, and how wrong it all felt now. It wasn't like he was in love, because he'd been in love a few times, and this was something completely different. He didn't love Shaun (he didn't even _know_ him!), but he wanted him in a way he'd never really known it was possible to want someone. But he didn't ask about it, because if it was an Omega thing, he'd find out about it in the pamphlet or the websites, and if it wasn't, well, it didn't seem there was anything he could do about it. Shaun hadn't claimed him, but the moment the doctor went over the whole claiming/bonding facts, he realized Shaun had come close. That second day, when Shaun had dropped him and had looked horrified, it was because he'd nearly started a claim, and he hadn't really wanted to. All just hormones, like he said. Desmond realized that the day that followed was Shaun trying to keep his distance, to satisfy Desmond without getting entangled, and on the one hand, it was kind of nice that he'd do that for Desmond even when he didn't want to be there. On the other, it made what followed even worse, because Shaun hadn't meant any of it; he'd done it because Desmond had begged him to. Everything he'd said and done was exactly what Desmond had asked for, and _only_ that.

Except, it hadn't seemed like it. Shaun had seemed so sincere when he said he'd wanted it enough to ignore his better judgment and broke into Rebecca's room. He hadn't exactly been open, no, and that planted further doubts in Desmond's mind. A few questions that Shaun had dodged, a few too many hesitations and unfinished sentences, and maybe it was all Desmond's own hormones. Maybe he was still riding the last waves of this cycle of his altered biology, and he'd come to his senses as Shaun seemed to expect him to.

So, they didn't have a bond. They had _nothing,_ there wasn't even a 'them', and whatever this was, it seemed to affect Desmond only. With everything else going on around him, everything else he was dealing with, this could just get shoved aside. Maybe he'd find out more about it, maybe he wouldn't, but he was certain that there was nothing he could do about it at all.

The immediate results of the tests cleared him for both resumed animus sessions and suppressants, both starting immediately. Of course, it would take a day or two to get the medicine to the warehouse, but apparently Abstergo had already done the testing of all sorts of chemical interactions with the Animus, and neither secondary genders nor their suppressants had any affect at all on either the health of the user, or the usability of the data gathered. Aside from the strange way in which he presented, Desmond was a completely normal, healthy Omega.

He asked, of course, if they trusted Abstergo's findings without double checking, but the answer was that they did. However, they had drawn his blood and would be performing tests of their own. So he just had to trust them, and by extension, Abstergo, which was a bit of a stretch, really.

"Don't worry, man, they want their victims to live a long time, be very useful to them. Their findings are quite likely right, though their methods are not," the doctor told him, like maybe he was trying to be comforting, but he was really shit at it because that wasn't comforting at all. Vidic hadn't seemed very concerned with his living a long time, that was for sure.

Still, it wasn't like he had any other options; there was literally nothing else he could do in the organization, not as he was. Not even if he thought that some people (himself and his father both) could use more than a few stiff drinks. 

========

Shaun left the day of the exam, after a few awkward goodbyes. He was leaving with William, who, satisfied that his son would be fine and could immediately continue his training, was already waiting downstairs, along with all of Shaun's things.

Shaun first spoke quietly with Lucy for a bit, who looked a little sad before giving him a quick hug, which he actually returned. But she smiled at him, and met his eyes, even. Desmond supposed she wouldn't get another chance to for a while, if at all - he had no idea how Assassin assignments worked. He didn't intend to ask, though, because they knew he'd be asking because of Shaun, and that was just unbearable. He was already breaking his resolve to try and stop thinking about Shaun too much, but maybe that was okay since the man hadn't actually _left_ yet.

Rebecca got a quiet conversation as well, and she actually did cry a little bit, which surprised Desmond. He supposed, though, that she must feel closest to him, since she rescued him and all. But when Rebecca hugged him, Shaun just looked mortified and spluttered, and Rebecca laughed. Shaun did eventually return it, though, looking for all the world like it was the least palatable thing he'd ever done, but Rebecca kept smiling.

Desmond watched Shaun approach him, and knew he wouldn't get a hug. Not that he wanted one; he totally didn't. Shaun offered a small, strained smile. "Look, I know it's awkward, but like I said, for the best, right? I'll still be doing the database entries, but you might not see 'em flagged immediately, since I'll have to send them and Rebecca will have to insert them." He was fidgeting and maybe he sounded a little nervous, but Desmond couldn't find anything to say, because even now, he really, really didn't want Shaun to leave, but was trying very hard to act like he didn't feel that way. 

Shaun just looked at him and sighed. "Right, then," he said. "Take care of yourself, mate," he murmured, and looked at his hand, like he might offer it, but he didn't. Desmond nodded at him once, when Shaun raised his eyes again. 

"You too, Shaun," he said. Quiet, but not at all teary or needy, either of which would be bad, both of which he'd feared. With one last, curt nod, Shaun turned and left, and Desmond watched him the whole time. Shaun glanced back, just once, when he'd reached the hallway to the stairs, but it was just a glance before he was gone. 

It didn't feel right; that ache in his gut tugged at him, grew sharper, but Desmond ignored it. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Not to Shaun, at least, and so it wouldn't matter to Desmond either. He swallowed a few times, took a few deep breaths before sitting up straight. "Alright, back to work, people," he said, and settled in the animus easily. Honestly, after that, who wouldn't be eager to be someone else for a while?

========

True to his word, William sent them a fourth team member to replace Shaun. Well, not to replace him, because not only did Desmond not like the phrase or all it implied, but also that Shaun was still doing the database entries, along with his other duties, whatever those were, now.

Their new member arrived a few days after Shaun left; a short, muscular man named Marco. He was swarthy and hairy and absolutely _nothing_ like Shaun, and that was perfect for a thousand reasons Desmond wasn't going to name, much less examine. Marco was recuperating from a recent injury, and this was a good post for him - he was cleared for light combat should it ever be necessary, cleaning and supply-run-running, and guard shifts. He was also straightforward and serious, without a sarcastic bone in his body. Another good trait, Desmond noted, then discarded because it wasn't important, why would he care about sarcasm at all? He didn't. Marco had taken Shaun's room, because Desmond hadn't. No one had actually _asked_ him to, so it wasn't like he'd had to refuse, but he could have taken it, and he hadn't, anyway.

In spite of his own expectations, but like Shaun had said, Desmond's life did return to 'normal'. His suppressants arrived with Marco, and aside from what appeared to be slightly enhanced senses, physically he felt no different than before the Incident. He did his animus runs, his warehouse runs, and sometimes, Marco would spar with him. If it all felt a little bit duller than before, well... Desmond didn't mention it to anyone. It wasn't relevant, and he wasn't acknowledging it anyways, so there was no problem. If maybe he thought about Shaun now and then, in his private moments, or all the fucking time, it was nobody's goddamn business but his own.

For the first time ever, Desmond willingly spent most of his time in the animus. It was just easier for a lot of reasons. And maybe it had to do with his new status as Omega, or maybe because even when he was someone else, he was feeling sorry for himself, but the bleeding effect seemed to dial back a bit. It really hurt to think that maybe Shaun had been right to say that this was for the best. It certainly didn't feel like it.

Ezio's life got more and more complicated, and Desmond found himself getting more and more invested in it. Of course, complicating things even further were the glyphs that Sixteen had hidden in the animus data. Shaun had helped with the first few, but now it was slower going, since, once Desmond solved them, Rebecca would have to transfer the appropriate files to him before they were decrypted to be not just animus-data, to be archived or distributed to those who needed to see it.

But through all of it, he had the database. He'd never told Shaun, and Shaun never asked, but he read every single entry. He had before, but he made a special effort to do so now, since extra work went into them now. They hadn't changed in tone - Shaun still slipped in his own brand of humor, or little anecdotes, or even a few personal tidbits. Desmond had kind of been afraid that they'd turn dry and informative, without any of the flair he'd always appreciated. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that they hadn't. Sometimes, if the target was important enough, the database entry was an audio and video file, narrated by Shaun himself, and Desmond refused to admit that those were his favorites, and if he replayed them a few times, he just wanted to make sure he had gleaned all the information from the entry as he could, that was _all._

It was hard for him to think about (impossible _not_ to think about), because the new entries were just like the old. Just as sarcastic and cynical as they had been before, and what did that mean? Was Shaun saying they were back to where they had been? Which was what, friendly-ish strangers? Or was it the opposite, was Shaun having to edit them to sound more natural, because he wanted to create a distance greater than the physical that already separated them, but somehow thought Desmond would notice and care that the tone had changed? Or worse, that such a change might trigger something in Desmond's supposedly fragile psyche, so he had to take care to _not_ sound different? Or was Desmond literally going crazy, because that seemed a legit option at this point.

Once, just once, he asked Rebecca about it.

"Hey, Becca, so, are there other animuses...animi...whatever, are there any others that the assassins use?," he asked one evening, after his workout. She was, as usual, tinkering with the machine in question.

Rebecca grinned at him. "Nope! Baby's one of a kind! We don't have the resources to make too many of them, nor to track down anyone who might have a useful ancestor. I'm constantly upgrading her, though, and maybe there's enough parts to build another from previous formations, and we do have a few more important components manufactured in case a replacement is necessary...," she trailed off for a moment, thinking, before, "Why?"

"I just wondered. The database...does anyone else read these?," he asked.

"I do," she replied immediately. "I mean, I maintain the database hardware, along with the animus; all the software and firmware, too, y'know? I always read 'em. Shaun's funny," she said, and shrugged, as if it weren't important. 

"So that's it? All that work for two people to read it?," he asked, and he honestly didn't know how that came out. It seemed ridiculous, because while Rebecca might have been reading them, they'd never been intended for _her._

"Yep! You're more important than you think, Desmond," she said, and of course she actually saw right through what he'd said to what he'd meant. And she was okay with that, why would she be okay with that? "Why do you ask?"

"I just... I dunno. I just realized that.. I mean, I read all of them, and...," he trailed off, taking a moment. "Isn't it a waste of his time? He told me once he did other things. Tactical and research for teams in the field, locating codex pages, stuff like that. Important stuff. If these are only for my benefit, then why...?" 

Rebecca only gave him a mysterious smile before she turned back to her work. "Like I said, Desmond. You're more important than you think. It might be relevant. It might not. We can't actually say. He was assigned here not just because of his history with me, but because he was supposed to be useful to you in this way. You're the one reading them, so...have they helped?," she asked.

Desmond was grateful her back was turned, because he knew he looked thoughtful, and more than a little sad, despite himself. "Yeah...they have," he said quietly. They helped. Not just inside the animus, but he _didn't_ say that. They hurt, too, and he wasn't sure which was greater. He wasn't sure it mattered, either, because he still kept reading them.

She didn't say anything else, and Desmond just bade her goodnight before he moved to the bed. She waved at him, as they both knew whatever noises she'd make wouldn't keep him up. 

They didn't; it was only his own thoughts that kept him from sleep for a long time.


	8. Chapter 8

Shaun wondered, not for the first time, just how he'd gotten here. It was never been a good idea to piss off William, and it was really, really odd that he hadn't even considered that before... 'helping' his son. Not that William saw it that way, naturally - which of course, Shaun couldn't blame him, because that hadn't been his true intention, had it? He'd not entered the room with the selfless notion of 'helping' on his mind at all. And this was why he wondered on his current situation; he was never one to ignore any factors when making a decision. Well, no, he ignored them all the time because apparently he had no self-preservation instinct, but he was never one to miss them, to not even consider them in the first place. He, Shaun, mister-I-can-put-together- _all_ -the-facts, had missed something so significant? It was ridiculous, and yet...

Still, while his station sucked, he knew it could be worse. They were assassins after all, and Shaun had only been with them officially for a few years - it wouldn't be hard at all for William to make him disappear, and his situation was such that no one would ask questions. The outside world already thought he was dead, and... well, within the organization, Shaun had very few friends, none of whom would do anything, even if they were told William himself had disposed of Shaun. Not even, he knew, Rebecca, who was his closest friend these days (though he'd deny it to anyone who asked, of course).

So while he was holed up in the worst shithole masquerading as an safehouse that he'd ever seen, he was alive and William's wrath wouldn't last forever. The Mentor was somewhat shortsighted when it came to Desmond (as well as, it seemed, short-tempered), but he'd never wasted anyone's talents. Shaun could only be grateful for his little 'gift', because he'd been useful enough when he'd first been recruited, and he'd only increased that usefulness with time. Before this, though, William had trusted Shaun quite a bit, and it was surprising how much he'd taken that for granted. 

He was still asked for his tactical advice regarding missions, but not by William himself. One of his delegates relayed the information back and forth. Nor was he freely given information on the higher-level missions like he had been. His access to the archive and those files hadn't been revoked, but he was no longer being updated on things. Worse, he was no longer was he given information pertaining to his other interests; odd coincidences in the outside world, fuel for his pet conspiracy theories (the ones that hadn't been proven right by this secret war, anyways), or updated on the newest artifact finds, new sites that they or Abstergo had found. He had, in effect, been blacklisted - and he hadn't even realized how privileged he had been; he hadn't thought about how easily those privileges were revoked.

Shaun enjoyed self-pity as much as the next person, but he prided himself on his pragmatism (some would say cynicism), and he knew this was a bed of his own making. But he wasn't upset because of where he'd been placed, or his additional (tedious) duties, or even William's anger. Not at all, those things were deserved. But Desmond hadn't deserved any of this, had he? He was now convinced that Desmond felt it, too, this strange pull that he felt - and he felt it _constantly._ It seemed impossible, but that last night Desmond had all but begged him to fight, to stay. He'd known he absolutely couldn't do that, because even if Desmond felt it, he didn't know what it was; he hadn't asked for any of this, hadn't wanted it, and whatever it was, time and distance would diminish it for them both, Shaun was certain.

Shaun himself still wasn't sure what it meant, and he made what few, subtle inquiries he could, with no useful results. He was being watched like a hawk, and googling 'is this soulbond thing real' was definitely going to get some attention he'd rather avoid. But he kept going back to it, how much he still wanted, even now; how it had all felt. How Desmond had looked when he'd left, the anger and confusion he'd displayed, the betrayal he'd shown only for a moment before it was gone. That last look he'd taken haunted him, because Desmond had looked so lost, and Shaun had had to force himself to leave, to join William and take the punishment he knew he deserved.

So he did what he could. He wrote the database as he always had, for Desmond. He resisted the impulse to hide messages in the entries, because he was certain those would be found out and removed before Desmond could see them anyways, but he kept the entries as light as he always had. This was the only way he could talk to him now. He helped with the Rift puzzles - as Rebecca called them - when he could, though he wasn't sure if Desmond was aware he was doing so, since Rebecca was the one sending the data to him. In fact, he kept up with Rebecca and even Lucy via e-mail, but he had no idea what to say to Desmond. They weren't even friends, really, and maybe shame factored into it, too - but this, he could do. He even recorded those entries he deemed important enough, because he'd always done so. No one had to know how many times he re-recorded them, how he hoped that he made Desmond smile even once. He never asked about Desmond in his e-mails, but sometimes, Rebecca would mention something, and Shaun knew it was fucking pathetic, but he waited for those crumbs, held each and every scrap of information dear. 

As busy as he was (and he was, he _really_ was, fucking William), Desmond was never too far from his thoughts. Well, to be precise, he never left them at all. But Shaun indulged them only occasionally, let certain memories warm him rarely, and in general, tried very hard to get on with things as best he could. He once told himself (in a weaker moment- and he had a lot of those nowadays) to keep a 'stiff upper lip', but only once, because he knew that Desmond would just laugh at him for being so British, and he could remember that laugh, warm and easy and deep - and that was awful, so he avoided the phrase after that, as he tried to avoid most things that reminded him of the man. He tried and mostly failed.

Because, despite himself, he was drowning in what-might-have-beens. Desmond had said he'd thought about him before 'the Incident'. Desmond had _wanted_ him before all this, had liked what he'd started to discover about Shaun, and this whole thing had fucked that all up. And Shaun could be fine with that - it wasn't like being an Assassin was great for your love life, and he'd gone through a couple of casual lovers in the few short years he'd been here, but never a relationship. No, it _would_ be fine, if it weren't for the memories he still carried. Desmond looking up at him as he swallowed his prick, Desmond looking at him when he'd touched Shaun for the first time because Shaun asked him if he wanted to, just ...Desmond _looking_ at him, and he was so, _so_ fucked because he'd spent so long trying not to look himself that he'd never even noticed. And it was impossible, now, it was all ruined and he knew that every bit of it was his fault in the first place.

He carried his own ache, dull and constant, but he numbed to it over time. And just as he'd predicted for Desmond and hadn't expected for himself, things eventually settled into a routine for him. A pretty shitty one, sure, but a routine all the same, and that would have to be enough.

========

That routine lasted only a few weeks before the disastrous raid on the warehouse. Shaun heard about it only a few moments after it happened, thanks to a quick text from Rebecca, but he couldn't help and knew his interference would be received with nothing approaching gratitude. Maybe if he'd been there, monitoring Abstergo's traffic or something... but his duties had been elsewhere, so of course he hadn't.

They got out fine, he heard a little later, Desmond displaying just how effective the 'Bleeding Effect Training Program' was, but apparently something much bigger was at stake, because what he'd seen in the Animus hinted at something worse than a world where Abstergo won this war. Well, for a given value of 'worse', really; he knew plenty of people who'd rather be dead than living in a world ruled the way the Templars wanted it. Just not _all_ people (probably not even 'most'), so he knew that they'd follow this thread, postponing Desmond's placement into the field, despite his current ability.

Shaun hadn't expected his own situation to change, but William could be pragmatic enough once his temper cooled, it seemed, because Shaun was moved to what William was using as his headquarters these days. Not the _actual_ headquarters of course, but William needed his real talents now, and he could put aside his feelings for something this big. 

Shaun was quickly integrated to the highest levels of Assassin Intelligence (such a lofty title for what amounted to a group of nerds clustered around some admittedly impressive computers and dusty old books - but Shaun had genuinely, fiercely hoped for this assignment at one point), where he was tasked with his usual tactical and research duties (and still required to update the database for Desmond - a duty he'd refused to give up, actually), but also given orders to track Abstergo's movements and infiltrate their own networks, if he could. It was everything he'd thought it would be; he was neck-deep in crises of all kinds, and it should have been fulfilling to be doing this, to be utilizing his skills the way he'd always thought they should be. If Shaun had time, he'd feel guilty for how much he could have enjoyed this. Of course, the very fact that he was too busy to think about anything else was the real reason he appreciated it at all. He would push himself as far as he could, go for days without sleep, because it was needed, and it left him no room for personal issues. If William noticed his devotion to his new assignment, he never commented.

He knew the moment that 'his' team set up at Monteriggioni; his new position allowed him to keep track of them, discreetly, and contact with both Lucy and Rebecca increased in frequency, because even with all of their regular duties, their most important was 'Keep Desmond Healthy; Keep Him Sane (If At All Possible)', and Desmond's stability could either fluctuate multiple times a day, or he'd be fine for a few days. Shaun would often forward them information that was necessary, but to be honest, most of their correspondence was of a personal nature. Nothing too personal, just things to relieve stress, or reminisce, or whatever, but he also found out more about Desmond than ever before, and not because he asked (he refused to). Instead, it was because both girls were worried, and both blind copied him on all e-mails they sent to William about his condition, though he wondered if both girls knew the other was doing it.

Things settled down a bit then, for a given value of 'settled'. His own sleep schedule never recovered, but that was more than fine with him. He could survive on shitty coffee and denial, and he was still better off than Desmond was. Desmond was losing his mind, and not as slowly as they'd hoped. If they'd ever talked like sensible adults (if Shaun had even made an _effort_ ), maybe Shaun would know more; how Desmond felt, how to help. But he hadn't, and he couldn't, and he'd just have to live with himself. He thought he'd done the right thing, at the time. Thought that it would be better this way, for Desmond, yes, but also for himself. He'd been wrong, and the cost wasn't just his self-worth, or a crushing guilt so great that sometimes he couldn't breathe for it, or an ache that never left him; it was whatever Desmond was suffering, too. Desmond hadn't told the girls anything about his heat, or the proto-bond, or Shaun himself - or if he did, the girls didn't pass it along, so Shaun had no idea how much of what was happening to Desmond was _his_ fault. He was only certain that some of it had to be.

That was what drove him, that he'd do anything he could to right this from where he was. Anything. He was working himself to the bone; he was miserable, and it was all terribly childish, but if he felt awful enough, maybe it would be _enough_ , finally, maybe it would mean something, that all this anguish was worth something in the end. If not for him, at least maybe it could be worth something to Desmond. He'd take Desmond's share, if he could, take everything that was hurting him, if only he _could._ It was terrifying, this need to... to take care of Desmond, to fix him - it was not a responsibility (it could have been), it was not an obligation (it should have been); it was a need, and it was _killing_ him.

He'd bear all the pain he'd caused, were it possible. He wanted that, felt that he deserved it. In fact, he was certain he deserved much worse, but he'd take what he could get.


	9. Chapter 9

Maybe it was bad, but Desmond was actually grateful for how quickly things went to shit. It was hard to wallow in self-pity when the world was apparently going to end.Not to mention when your hated enemy suddenly found out your location and raided your hideout, forcing you to defend everything you'd built up to that point. Not that Desmond was super crazy about the recent turns in his life, but fuck if he was just going to roll over and let Vidic get what he wanted!

Seeing Vidic had shaken him a bit, but worse than that, he was surprised at how _angry_ he was that he'd gotten away. He'd actually wanted to feel that bastard's blood running through his fingers, wanted to kill him for starting this whole mess. For finding him, for ever putting him in the animus, for everything that had happened to him afterwards. He wasn't really surprised how easily killing had come to him - he'd already done so much of it, if not with this exact set of hands, but the girls kept giving him worried glances. Marco kept his own counsel, as usual, but he still sparred with Desmond - he was healed enough now that their matches wore Desmond out, even better than warehouse runs had.

Monteriggioni, though, was both awesome and terrible. Awesome, because he felt right at home in a way that wasn't really right at all. Terrible because it wasn't the home he remembered, that _Ezio_ remembered, but enough things were unchanged as to make it both disorienting and welcoming at the same time. Not that it mattered too much, of course, because he wasn't going to be out there very often. He got to set them up with power, but after that, he was confined mostly underground. He was allowed some jaunts outside, but only in ten minute trips, and only at night.

Desmond continued his animus runs, of course, because apparently that was all he was good for - he had a feeling he'd never make it to the field at this rate. Not that he'd ever really wanted to, but honestly, he kind of resented that everything they needed from him had nothing to do with _him_ at all.

========

It was a couple of weeks into his new routine that he got a strange e-mail from someone calling themselves 'Erudito'. It took him a little while to realize what the e-mail meant, and when he'd successfully logged into Lucy's e-mail the first time, he felt guilty. What right did he have to snoop? Why on earth did someone else have the girls' passwords, and why would they give it to him?

That feeling lasted all of a few seconds, because he could see her inbox was full - unlike his own - but that wasn't the problem; Shaun was keeping up with her regularly - multiple messages a day from the look of it - and _fuck,_ it was like a solid punch to the gut. He hadn't heard one word from Shaun, not _one,_ and it wasn't like the man was out of contact, because he was still getting database entries, even now. 

Despite himself, Desmond read them; all the e-mails he could, even though he knew he shouldn't. It was wrong, yes, but it was also painful, to see evidence of a friendship here, genuine concern on both sides. More than that, sometimes the emails were just stupid links to cat videos or bitching about their 'work', just stupid mindless stuff that friends did. Sometimes, he himself was mentioned. Shaun rarely asked about him, and even more rarely spoke of him, and it made the ache in his body throb sharply for a little while.

Because apparently he was a glutton for punishment, and/or unable to refuse his curiosity, he entered Rebecca's email, and found it much the same. Their own exchanges were a little more personal, it seemed, but quite frequent, and...that really told him all he needed to know, didn't it?

Shaun couldn't spare him an e-mail, not a single one, and for a horrifying moment, Desmond actually thought he might cry. He held his breath and logged out, and mentioned as casually as he could that he needed to stretch his legs. He snatched the watch and earpiece off the table, and made his way outside before anyone could raise any kind of protest. He actually took off the earpiece for a bit, made his way to the roof and just lay there, looking at the moon; it was quite full tonight, and so very bright. If maybe he did cry a little bit, it didn't matter; it wasn't like the moon would tell anyone.

The view was kind of comforting, though, in a strange way. It was almost precisely the same as it had been for Ezio, as it would remain after Desmond, should he succeed in saving the world and all that it required. The sky stretched above him, so vast and full and quiet. He was less than insignificant; he was nothing to this universe, nothing to this world, nothing to...well, anyone, really, and not to one person in particular. He was a conduit, with less purpose than even Ezio. He was empty, almost numb and he found a strange comfort in that. He could do this, because it wasn't him that mattered, was it? He could do this, because the world needed him to - and that was a noble cause, wasn't it? To bear the weight of the world on his shoulders? He _would_ do this, because at least this burden had a purpose.

When he put the earpiece in, it was still silent - he had a few minutes left, and generally, the group left him alone unless he was running late. He stood, and shook himself, and used those few minutes to run, to get his blood pumping again, a cover for the redness of his cheeks and eyes. 

No one said anything when he returned, when he placed the watch and earpiece in their usual place, and headed back to the computer. He deleted the email from Erudito, responded to his father's latest inquiry on his progress, and shut the thing down.

He didn't snoop again.

========

Desmond's life had fallen into a new pattern at Monteriggioni, and despite the whole possible world ending thing, it didn't feel hurried at all. It wasn't like they all weren't aware of that invisible clock, but rather that it didn't seem to touch Desmond's world much, in any fashion. His days bled into each other: just more of the same, more of the same.

Part of it was his new resolve; he remained numb, hollow. The ache never went away, not really, but it was less, now. It was bearable, and as time passed, he thought of Shaun less and less. He still read the database entries, because they were useful, but no longer did he think of them as coming from _Shaun._ They were just a constant, a tool.

The other part, however, was because the bleeding effect was now worse than ever. Ever since arriving at Monteriggioni, the effect had accelerated, and he had more episodes than ever. More than once, he'd wake up in the morning with Marco restraining him, his room trashed. Or he'd come back to himself anywhere at all, where he'd just been sitting and staring into space quietly, or having conversations with ghosts. He might not have believed them when they told him about that last part, but Rebecca had recorded him once, on her phone. It had been really fucking creepy, to be speaking with Altair's voice, in a language that Desmond didn't even know, acting for all the world like he was holding a proper conversation, with appropriate pauses for responses, and reactions to whatever he heard. Desmond didn't even _remember_ the incidents, because they were always memories of things that had happened to the assassin in question, and he always carried those; he just didn't know which ones came out like that.

He tried to stick to a routine, then. A certain amount of time in the animus, a certain amount of exercise, and a certain amount of both food and sleep. He wasn't sure why he thought this would help, really, but it had to be better than nothing. Lucy told him his mental health was a 'serious concern', and he believed her. He was seriously concerned.

========

Ezio's life had always been eventful, but now it was eventful in a different way. Now, there was politics, more schemes than ever, and infighting in the brotherhood - and oh yeah, he was the Mentor now. Ezio had recruits to train and send out on missions, and recruits to mourn when they did not always return. Desmond felt a kind of kinship with Ezio beyond the blood they shared; everyone wanted something from them, everyone just took and took and always expected more.

And, like Desmond, Ezio had no one to share his burdens with, not really. He had to be strong for everyone, and had no one to be strong for him. But unlike Desmond, Ezio had had someone to fill that part for a short time. His friendship with Leonardo da Vinci was more intimate than Desmond had expected or been prepared for. They weren't lovers, not quite, but Leonardo knew Ezio and supported him like no one else ever had or even could have. Leaving him behind had been one of the hardest things Ezio had ever done, and yet, they'd been reunited, sort of. But this time Leonardo was risking himself, giving Ezio even more to worry about. But still, his presence was a balm whenever they could meet, and it meant so much to Ezio, though it was never enough.

It was weird, to be jealous of the ghosts in your mind, but he was; because Altair had Malik, Ezio had Leonardo, and Desmond felt like maybe he could have had that, too, but he hated thinking that because it fucking hurt. He didn't want that with anyone but Shaun, it wouldn't _work_ if it wasn't Shaun (because Shaun was just like them, just what Desmond needed without knowing it; as if the universe had arranged things so that they would meet, while making it all look like coincidence); but it also wouldn't work if Shaun didn't want it - and he clearly didn't. Every time he came back from a memory where Ezio met up with Leonardo, he felt a little bit more hollow, a little more empty, and even he had to wonder when he'd reach the point where there was just nothing left.

In addition to Ezio's exhaustingly complicated life, there were more bits of Sixteen to find in these rifts, more puzzles to solve. Each one gave him more information, started to show him a bigger picture - and he wanted so badly to understand, but it felt like each one took something from him in exchange for the information. Was this how it was for him, too? Sixteen, he felt, would understand him. Sixteen had done all this before, seen all this before, because how else would he have put the rifts there? Desmond felt he should try to get further than he had, though, because it would be awful if he failed, wouldn't it? It would be awful to let everyone down, that Sixteen's sacrifice meant nothing. 

When he solved the last puzzle and Rebecca opened the file revealed, Desmond made his way through the confusing maze. He thought he'd have his answers now, but when he found Sixteen, or what remained of him, he got no answers at all - only more puzzles, more cryptic words. Sixteen _had_ the answers, he was certain, but Sixteen was like him in that he was broken, and unlike him in that he wasn't empty; he had the answers, had the knowledge, but maybe he had just too much of it. The session was recorded, of course, but whatever conclusions were drawn from it, he never heard. He didn't need to hear. In Sixteen, he saw himself; himself as he was or maybe as he would be soon. Whichever it was, it didn't actually matter, and that terrified him.

His nightmares increased in both frequency and awfulness, and while he couldn't always recall them, he woke up shaking and sweating and weak four or five times a week now. He was thinking of asking for chemical assistance in getting to sleep, but that seemed crazy because he was always so tired, he just couldn't get any _rest._

========

Over time, Desmond felt less and less like a _person,_ and the worst part was, it didn't even scare him anymore. He imagined it was like being deaf when you were surrounded by an ocean of noise; it should probably have been painful, or terrifying, but it couldn't touch him. He could tell the girls were worried, so he made a sort of checklist to follow, to put them at ease: Smile. Eat. Breathe. Don't pace in circles. Don't talk to yourself. Don't pick at your clothes or skin or hair when any of it felt wrong. Don't cry. Don't laugh, either.

Every day, new things got added to the list, as he felt more and more divorced from who he was, yet more and more invested in trying to _appear_ like who he'd been. It was almost like a game, really.

Oh, he had to add 'Don't ask for too much animus time' to the list, because Lucy was looking at him _that_ way again. But it was easier when he wasn't in this skin, now. Couldn't she see that? It was easier when Desmond didn't have to exist, didn't have to _try so hard_ at existing. But he'd just have to deal with it like all the others.

Occasionally, he'd talk to them, or he would try to. Initiate conversations like he used to. He remembered jokes. Sometimes he told one. The girls didn't laugh very often, though, so maybe they weren't funny. Marco never seemed to laugh. Mostly, they all looked sad and worried. Still, he'd talk to them, because it was expected, and because he didn't want them to feel sad _or_ worried. He'd tell them of what he'd seen in Monteriggioni, sometimes things Ezio remembered, and one day, he actually was excited to pass along something new, something interesting.

"Guys, you won't believe this. _I_ can't believe this. Why didn't it occur to me sooner? You know that weird marking on the wall in the tunnel? The triangle? So, I was using eagle vision, and...there are numbers there. Three numbers. Ezio put them there. 1419, 1420, 1421. Do you know what they mean?," he asked. "I bet Shaun would know," he mused, and immediately a thick sort of tension filled the air, and he saw that both girls were looking at him oddly. He realized it was the first time he'd said Shaun's name since...well, since he'd left. Something in him ached at that, sharp and sudden. It made him stagger a bit, and suddenly Marco was there, supporting him. Desmond shook his head, confused. "What?," he asked, waving the man off. "It's true, they're years, right? Ask him if they mean anything. I- I need to lay down," he said, suddenly dizzy and made his way to his bed, flopping down without any semblance of grace at all. He felt strangely contented, like he'd found a new dimension to his game, and prodded at that pain. He remembered it now, remembered that it had hurt, and that he'd hated it, but now it was a reminder. A perfect, sharp, painful reminder.

Why he played this game, why he tried so hard to seem normal, why he continued with the animus, all of it. He was going to save the world. He was going to save the _world._

========

Desmond kept his routine, kept his game. He figured already that it wasn't really working, because everyone always spoke so gently to him, looked at him with such pity - at first, it had only been when they thought he couldn't see them, but they did it openly now. But it didn't matter, because they were close, they were _so close!_

They found where the Apple had been hidden. They could retrieve it, if only they could see how to open the door! Over Lucy's objections, he was ready to enter the animus, to comb Ezio's memories to find the password when the blackout occurred. But he already knew the answer. Well, _he_ didn't, but he knew who would.

"Rebecca...call Shaun," he said, already heading up the stairs. He'd seen that symbol before, the one on the Vault door - he _remembered._ It was significant, he was sure of it. The numbers, he'd been told, were meaningless. Nothing of note had happened in those years, nothing important to either the Assassins or the Templars, as far as Shaun could figure. Or so Rebecca had reported.

She made a sort of protest, but did as he asked once she'd come up to where she could get a signal - which was, coincidentally, right by where the mark was. "Show him the symbol," he said, and even to his ears, his voice sounded distant, almost dreamy. "Tell him the numbers, ask him what they mean."

He was staring at the symbol, not even in eagle vision, and heard her do as he asked; the click of the camera; the quiet, tinny echo of Shaun's voice through the phone. It was a strange comfort to hear him like this, live - it almost soothed that ache he carried, almost, but it wasn't important. Only the Apple was. Once they had it, he could rest, and he wanted that, wanted it desperately; he was going to sleep for a million years.

Lucy was already talking to William, of course. "Desmond, you can stay behind," she said, but Desmond shook his head. 

"I have to go," he said, absently. "The door will only open for me, for my...blood." 

That sparked a heated debate between her and his father, but he didn't have to pay attention because they weren't really talking to him now. He just stared at the symbol, and it meant something, it was _important_ , and it was almost like a memory he couldn't quite recall and if he just stared long enough, he could just grasp it...

But then there was a hand on his shoulder and the memory was gone, and he turned away. The next few hours were a blur; he remembered nothing between climbing into the van and arriving at the coliseum. He felt a little more awake now, and it felt _great,_ to be outside in the cool night air, to run around and find the way in, a different kind of game. It all felt so right, like this was meant to happen, just like this. The moon was there as well, just as big and full and bright as it had been that night, and that felt right too, that it should be here at the end of things, as it had always been there, as it always would be. Marco was following him, per Lucy's 'suggestion', he was not quite as fast as Desmond but he was never out of sight.

He lead the way inside the church, and then there was even more climbing and jumping, and then they were going down, down, down. He was so tired of being underground, but this was the last of it - after this, he was done, he would spend as much time outside as he wanted. Finally, they got to the Vault door, and even though he didn't remember what Shaun had said about the password (he hadn't been paying attention to the words, just the sound of his voice), he knew what it was anyways. Maybe he had listened. Or maybe it was because he actually could hear him now; Rebecca was on the phone with him again, describing everything because Shaun couldn't be there, and that made sense because maybe he'd know something they'd need to know. Shaun's voice was still tinny through the phone, but it carried through the empty chambers quite well, actually, and Desmond was glad to hear it; he should be here in person and probably would have been if it were anyone other than Desmond who'd led them here.

"Did he give the password yet, what's going on? Why's it so quiet? Rebecca? Did he forget the password? It's-"

"Seventy Two," Desmond said, loud and clear and ready, and they all stepped into the room slowly. Even Rebecca was quiet when they entered, prompting another impatient query from her phone. There was, of course, yet _another_ puzzle, a little more jumping and running and climbing, but Desmond didn't mind, because he could see the Apple, just right _there,_ it would be theirs in only a few minutes.

But he'd barely started to climb when he heard a terrible voice, an angry voice. He could see her, too, but he asked the others, and of course no one else could see her, no one could hear her. Of _course._ He knew what she was saying was important, and he actually tried to pay attention, sometimes pausing on top of one of the slabs to do so. She spoke of senses, and of failure, and of fate, and her words had a finality that shook him, and a certainty that frightened him.

But he had to ignore it, because it didn't matter; the Apple was right in front of them, and as he approached it, it started to glow. Rebecca explained everything she could see to her phone, and he could hear Shaun, too. Their animated chatter became a background to the static that started to fill his mind. He reached out to the Apple; he grabbed it...and everything stopped.

He heard that voice again, and he couldn't move as she spoke. He tried to struggle, and suddenly, he was no longer numb, no longer empty. He was full, so _full_ of knowledge and of knowing, and he could see so much, far too much! All the information that Sixteen had tried to give him was nothing compared to this! But the woman - Juno, for whom this temple had been built so long ago - she spoke, and she moved him. She spoke of betrayal and fate, and he begged her to stop, but she did not. She told him he knew little, and he wanted to laugh because for once, it wasn't true (he knew _too much_ ), but his struggles weakened because he knew what she said was true, all of it. He could see it.

Everything was frozen, everything was still, and he stood before Lucy, Apple in one hand, Blade ready in the other, and he _knew._ He had a choice. This moment, it was _his,_ and he _mattered_ , because his choice would dictate everything that would follow. He could choose to let Lucy live, knowing that she'd already betrayed all of them years ago (had betrayed Desmond before she'd even met him). He could let her live, knowing that she'd return to Abstergo with the Apple - and even Desmond himself, if he let her - and she would fail. The world would burn.

Or, he could kill her. He could kill her, and the Apple - and Desmond - would remain with the Assassins. But the full result of this choice was hidden from him. Or maybe it was because this choice would lead to other choices, and then further still, into either infinity or oblivion, he couldn't tell. This choice meant he couldn't rest, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't _stop._ This choice wasn't a guarantee of salvation, but it was a guarantee of a _chance,_ and wasn't that all they could reasonably hope for?

"No!," he cried out, staring at Lucy, because it wasn't _fair,_ not any of it! This wasn't what he'd wanted, but _this_ was what freedom meant; terrible choices with terrible consequences, and he knew that it was this that Sixteen had tried to show him. But the choice was his, and he knew what he'd choose. He knew that Juno had known what he'd choose. He'd always choose to fight, because there should always be a choice, or a chance, whenever possible. He stared at Lucy a few heartbeats longer because this moment was his; he was going to kill her, and he wanted to remember this, all of it. How it felt to choose; how it felt to _matter._

It was not anyone's hand but his own that thrust the blade into Lucy's stomach; it was just him, only him. Juno spoke to him again, told him of the path that lay before him; she gave him instructions, she told him to go alone. Like she needed to, like that was _his_ choice.

Then Juno released her control, and she left him. _Everything_ left him: the moment, the static, the knowledge and the knowing - all of it was gone. He was empty again, and numb, and as time resumed, he felt himself fall to the floor. Lucy's stunned eyes met his for just a second before they, too, were empty. The apple fell from his senseless fingers, his body fell hard the stone, but he didn't feel anything at all. Finally, _finally,_ he slept.


	10. Chapter 10

Shaun had been on the phone with Rebecca when Desmond had stabbed Lucy. Not that he known that at the time, because on his end Rebecca had been describing the symbols to him one second, and then the next, she'd screamed and dropped the phone.

"Desmond? Lucy?!," she cried, and of course Shaun was demanding to know what happened, but he wasn't surprised to be ignored, seeing as no one could hear him.

"Lucy? Oh god, she's bleeding, there's too much..!," Rebecca said, and she sounded so scared. Shaun had never known Rebecca to sound scared, not even when _she_ was in danger, and it frightened him. He hadn't been in the main workroom, mostly because even William agreed maybe he should focus on this in case they needed to know anything relevant that Shaun could relay. But he ran to get William now, keeping the phone to his ear, both just in case someone picked it up, but also to glean anything else he could about the situation.

"Desmond?" Marco's voice, maybe some rustling. "Desmond, wake up. How did he even...?"

"I can't stop the bleeding, she's unresponsive, how could she have bled so much? How did this happen?" Rebecca was panicking now, he could hear the tears in her voice.

By then, he'd gotten William's attention and put the phone on speaker to relay what he could. William, practical William, who had his priorities in the right place, was already making travel preparations, but the first question he wanted Shaun to ask, when he got anyone back on the line, was if they'd secured the Apple. Shaun honestly wanted to ask if that really was the most important thing they should know, but he kept his mouth shut.

He'd get the answer, but it might not be the _first_ question he asked.

He heard Rebecca actually crying, full on sobs, before the phone was picked up again. It was Marco, and Shaun's first question was not about the Apple, but a demand to know what happened. Even he couldn't believe it, but Marco swore that one second, Desmond was next to the apple, and the next, both he and Lucy were on the ground, unconscious. Lucy was bleeding out, had already bled more than it seemed as if she could have, and Desmond's blade was still extended, bloody. 

However, he did ask about the Apple next, and relayed to an anxious William that they did have it, Marco had picked it up and stowed it in the case they'd brought along for that purpose.

The next few hours were tense and exhausting. William and Shaun traveled to Rome as quickly as possible, keeping in contact with Rebecca as much as they could. Shaun was the one who had to arrange cleanup, and also a funeral. He might have thought earlier that William had seemed cold, but now he could see the honest grief in the man; he'd known Lucy personally, had personally trained her for the special mission to infiltrate Abstergo. And now her death appeared to be at his son's hands. Shaun wasn't good at comfort - only sarcasm, really - so he kept quiet and did as he was asked.

========

When they arrived in Rome, Shaun was immediately busy; he arranged the cleanup and the dismantling and distribution of their equipment. William took possession of the Apple and debriefed the two assassins that were still alive and conscious. Then they were going to take Desmond - who still hadn't woken up, who _wouldn't_ wake - and return to the States, where not only did they have better connections to any possible care options Desmond would need, but it would be easier for them to hide. To everyone's surprise, William had Desmond put into the animus. He was certain it would keep him stable; that whatever coma he was in, it wasn't a 'normal' one.

Shaun was worried, but didn't - _wouldn't_ mention it. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of Desmond, and the ache from their proto-bond - or whatever it was - was still dull, as if they were continents apart instead of only meters.

But he had no time for distractions; he had a funeral to arrange, and he'd kind of hoped Rebecca would get to stay for it. He'd been Lucy's friend, too, and not only could he use the comfort, but he knew she would as well - William wasn't exactly known for his sympathy. Neither was Shaun, but he and Rebecca understood each other; really, they'd just get drunk and cry together, and then never speak of it again. But Rebecca would return with William, as she was the foremost expert they had on the Animus, and Marco was going to be assigned to the team that had taken care of the cleanup. Shaun would return to the U.S. once everything here was taken care of.

Lucy was buried in a small cemetery just outside of Rome. There hadn't been much of a ceremony: no priest and no blessing, just Shaun and the men who lowered her casket into the ground. He threw a flower and a handful of dirt, and watched as the men filled in the rest.

He had no idea what to say to her. He felt he should say something, but in the end, all he could get out was a soft "I'll miss you." He cried, right there at her grave, and there was no shame in it, because he would miss her, bossiness and all. 

Her death still made no sense, and the only person who could tell them anything was lying prone in the very machine that broke him. Was he like previous subjects, some of whom had gotten homicidally violent near the end? Was it the Apple? Was it something else? There were so many questions, and no way to get the answers.

========

When he returned to the States, it wasn't to his previous assignment, as he'd expected. Instead, William met him at the airport, and they went to lunch at some shitty diner with passable food, because apparently those were the best places to have discreet conversations in public.

"Shaun, our situation is unique, right now. I'm forming a small, special team, and I want you to be part of it," he said, and Shaun paused, greasy toast halfway to his mouth.

"Wait. You mean... Desmond?," Shaun asked, because that was the last thing he'd expected. 

"Yes. I think we're going to need your talents more than ever, and having you out of immediate reach could mean more than a little inconvenience; it could mean the end of the world." With that, William popped a fry into his mouth like it was all nothing, like they weren't talking about the actual fate of the earth.

"Yeah, sure, I can see that," Shaun murmured, pushing his food around for a moment. This wasn't exactly William _asking_ him, because he was the Mentor, and Shaun would do as he directed, but then again, maybe it was. Maybe he was asking if Shaun could do this. "You're wondering if... things will get weird," he guessed.

William nodded. "Exactly. I still don't know all the details of what happened, and I don't want to. I trust this time you can keep it in your pants?," he asked archly, and Shaun scowled.

"It wasn't-!," he protested, but he knew that's not what William wanted to hear right now, and it's not what he'd asked, either. "I will not interfere with the mission in any way," he snapped instead. "It won't be an issue."

"Good. All I wanted to know. You are invaluable, Shaun, you always have been. I never lost sight of that." For a moment, Shaun was stunned. William had never handed out a compliment like that, not directly, and not to his face. "But," he continued, and Shaun had kind of expected this part, "You are still responsible for your actions. If you jeopardize this, there will be _severe_ repercussions." 

Shaun could only nod at that, because he knew that William meant it. He could care so much about something and still seem so cold. So, too, could he appear casual and make threats he fully intended to back up, if he needed to. But William was waiting, looking at him expectantly, and Shaun cleared his throat. 

"Yes, sir. Understood," he managed. And just like that, William relaxed. The rest of the meal continued in silence.

========

Their current base was a large, well-furnished apartment. Desmond, still in the animus, stayed in the main room. Shaun, William, and Rebecca had their own rooms, though they each took turns sleeping on the couch, in case Desmond should wake, or the animus report that his vitals were failing.

They could see all sorts of strange activity in his brain, but they couldn't monitor it or record it. It was odd, to see Desmond like this, to be physically near him, and yet... the bond they had, whatever it actually was, it was still quiet. It ached, but it was muted, not like the last time he'd actually seen Desmond - when he'd left. It had been raw then, sharp and throbbing and _awful._

Shaun wasn't good at being helpless. He hated it, because he was usually the person who got things done, who made things happen. He could tell the others felt it, too; they were all bound by this crushing suspension, waiting for something, _anything_ to happen. But it wasn't like they weren't busy; there were desks and computers in the main room as well, and for most of the day, all three of them were working on various projects or operations. A few times a day, a doctor would come and look at Desmond and talk to William, but aside from odd spikes in his neural activity, nothing seemed to change.

He'd promised William that it wouldn't interfere, but he hadn't been honest with the man, not really. He hadn't explained anything - hadn't had a chance to; William had said that he didn't care, that he didn't want to know. Whatever it was between him and Desmond... it might be relevant to their situation, or Desmond's condition, or it might not - right now, he'd give things a little bit of time. Shaun gave himself a deadline: if Desmond didn't wake in two weeks, he'd tell William everything, whether or not he wanted to hear it. They had a world to save, if only the man who could deliver it could save himself.


	11. Chapter 11

When Desmond woke up, finally, _really_ woke up, it was to see his father crowding him, a genuine concern in his eyes, in his voice. But Desmond was still reeling from everything he'd just lived through. Everything he'd just learned. He felt the Apple nearby - he could _feel_ it - and when he looked down, his hand was glowing with symbols he recognized but no longer knew. They were similar to those on the apple and on the keys, and he glanced over to where it lay nearby. 

He looked back at his father, the _Mentor_ , filled with determination. He could feel the others hovering, felt his own diaphragm ache at Shaun's proximity, but it meant _nothing._ It wasn't important in the face of what he knew was coming, and he ignored it, didn't even look at Shaun once. It didn't cost him nothing, but he wanted to show them that he could do this, that he was strong enough, that he could bear all the weight he needed to. 

"I know what we need to do," he said, and it was his father who was distressed, who sent a worried glance to the other two. But it was the Mentor who met his eyes and nodded; he knew they had work to do. The world wasn't going to save itself. 

========

They were in a cave, underground _again,_ because Desmond's life, as he was coming to realize, followed certain patterns. On the way in, he'd plugged in some sort of battery that powered up the place. He wanted to explore, but his father promised he could explore once they'd moved everything.

He expected them to ask what had happened during his 'coma'. Why he'd stabbed Lucy in the first place. They didn't ask, and that was a relief, because he didn't want to talk about it. Not any of it, not yet. 

Of course, once everything was moved, one of the first things actually set up was the Animus, a newer model that Rebecca promised held less danger for him, and more benefits. He'd honestly had his fill of the thing; if there weren't a time limit, he honestly didn't know how soon it would be before he voluntarily allowed himself to be strapped into that thing again.

But in the end, it was out of his hands; when he did finally explore, the first thing he did was approach the giant glowing wall. The disorientation he felt was familiar, the voice he heard telling him about the key was familiar - the ghostly man in strange clothes was not. 

_Ah, fuck,_ he thought, as he started to fall over, _not this shit again._

Naturally, he came to in the white loading screen of the animus, and he wanted so badly to be angry, but he couldn't hang onto it. At least this time he could communicate with the outside world, and he told his father what he'd been told about the key. He wasn't exactly happy with Juno - surely she could find a better way to communicate than this? First total control and yelling, now bleeding effects and fugue states?

Still, he ran through the memory as quickly as he could. In a way, it was interesting; to see the world like this, so much more recent, so much more familiar. It was nothing like his previous ancestors - he was completely aware of himself, of _Desmond,_ even as he was reliving Haytham's memory. He wondered if it was a result of the upgrade, or maybe the synch nexus he'd experienced before waking from his coma. He'd ask, but then he'd have to talk about what happened, and he wasn't ready to, not yet.

The whole experience turned out to be very enlightening, though. First, he found out that not all of his ancestors were Assassins. Some were Templars. Second, and this might have _something_ to do with the first, he found out that a strong enough response to a memory could jolt him out of the animus. That was actually kind of reassuring.

Not all of them were surprised by the first, and the second kind of got glossed over. And of course, the answer to everything was to spend more time in the animus. Oh, did extended use of the animus break Desmond's brain? Better put him back in there. Whoops, Desmond fainted because a crazy ancient crone wants to communicate with him? Yeah, this calls for the animus! Oh, she wants us to find a key that one of his ancestors hid a long time ago? Of _course,_ the animus! So, maybe he lost it a little bit. Maybe he yelled at his father again, maybe he was trying to be heard, maybe he was trying to say he was _scared,_ but like always, his father didn't listen. Instead, he belittled Desmond, then yelled at him, then, finally, hit him. The belittling wasn't new. The yelling wasn't new. That he hit him, well, that _was_ new.

It might have gotten worse, were it not for Shaun, of all people, who literally stepped between them, who pushed them away from each other and directed them back to focusing on their new goal.

It was weird, because this was the first time Shaun had actually spoken to Desmond since he woke. But he was direct and clear and yeah, Desmond could do this. He could be distant and professional, too. Maybe he was a little quiet at first, but he was also a little embarrassed about his outburst. He hadn't meant to lose it like that, not in front of everyone, and he was grateful to Shaun for giving them an out. Shaun was even a little short with William, which was unexpected, to say the least. Even weirder, it was Shaun who suggested that Desmond could explore a bit before he returned to the animus - and William didn't argue.

========

Desmond was less hesitant about the animus when he found out the relevant memories from this point forward were not the Templar, Haytham, but his son, who eventually took on the name Connor. Not completely enthusiastic, mind, but at least no longer actively resistant. Desmond lived important parts of Connor's life, skipping his training entirely, before he began working his way to their ultimate goal; the location of the key.

He was 'allowed' out of the animus more often, and he took every chance he could get; he still hadn't spoke of his coma, and no one asked, but it was all crystal clear in his mind. When he'd woken on the island, he'd been a blank slate; no memories, only his name. He hadn't been alone, either, but Clay wasn't exactly the best company. He was even more broken than Desmond, and he was lonely. He could be bitter, he could be cruel, and there were times he'd genuinely frightened Desmond. There had also been times he'd broken Desmond's heart, first with sympathy and ending with his final sacrifice.

He'd had to fight for his memories, claw his way back from the empty, broken shell he'd been. But at the same time, he was filling himself with Ezio's memories, and Altaïr's. He'd come so, so close to breaking, to bursting, a mind over-full of memories and thoughts, many of them not this own. But, because of Clay's sacrifice, he'd made it to the nexus.

And the nexus - seeing Altaïr's final moments, feeling Ezio's phantom touch on his shoulder... it left Desmond feeling lonely, feeling hollow. He still carried their memories, some of them, but they were separate now. Distinct. Contained. And he knew he'd never witness another moment of either of their lives. He was _certain_ \- they had nothing left to show him; their tales had been told, their purposes fulfilled in him. That moment, that blinding realization, had left him feeling whole for the first time he could remember. But it frightened him, the knowledge that so many lifetimes had led up to this. It was one thing to know the fate of the world depended on you; that was vague and valuable, but too hard to really visualize, too big to personalize. But to know that these men had fought so hard and given up so much, just so that _he_ would see, that _he_ would understand... And all of it for just a _chance_ at salvation! It was humbling. It was _terrifying._

How could he put that into words? He'd tried, earlier, but it had come out wrong somehow, because William had accused him of being a child, had asked what was _wrong_ with him, like why couldn't he deal with all of this crazy shit like a normal person. Desmond hadn't ever been able to talk with his father, not at all. Rebecca... she didn't deserve his burdens, too. He knew she'd sacrificed a lot for him, for his training. It wasn't like she wasn't under pressure, too. And though he knew she'd listen if he asked it, she wasn't the one he _really_ wanted to talk to.

And Shaun, well. They'd have to talk eventually, but Desmond had put it off. He'd bothered Rebecca, hell, he'd even tried to talk to his _father_ before talking to Shaun, and left more angry than he'd started. But there was only so much he could do without going crazy, and the truth was, it wasn't as bad as he'd expected.

Ever since he woke, that feeling in his chest couldn't make up its goddamn mind. Sometimes he'd feel...comforted. Soothed. Most of the time, though, it was just uncomfortable; the dull, throbbing ache that he'd gotten so used to. And that didn't actually change when he spoke to Shaun, as he'd been afraid (or maybe even hopeful) that it would. Shaun acted as he had before. He made no mention of their...well, whatever it had been. Of course, he didn't actually look at Desmond very much, or even face him. A lot of their conversations were while they looked into that huge canyon/hole thing next to the glowing door, or while Shaun was crouched near the door itself. Or while Shaun was at his computer. Basically, Desmond only approached him when Shaun had a reason to be looking elsewhere, only he didn't want to admit that. He knew why Shaun never approached _him._

Even down here, Desmond took his suppressants. He hadn't yet had another heat at all, not even the urge, but every time he looked at Shaun, he _remembered._ Shaun appeared to have forgotten it entirely, and Desmond almost wanted to ask him how, but then he'd have to admit that he still felt that pull, that want, that _ache,_ and he just couldn't. He just dealt with it the best he could, because there was no way he was going to ask his father.

========

Things settled into a routine, as they were wont to, and Desmond was actually okay with it. Connor's life was interesting, both personally and historically, and Desmond found himself reading the database every time an entry popped up. The entries were funnier than ever, and honestly, Desmond wished _talking_ with Shaun was like this again. But he never pushed it, and avoided Shaun until he couldn't stand the company of literally everyone else in the cave - including his own.

Sometimes, it was so easy to ignore his ache, to ignore what he still felt. He had bigger things to focus on, after all. But sometimes, he'd go run around the temple to burn off energy, and end up perching on one of the few vantage points that always lay in shadow, and he'd just watch. He'd watch Shaun. Just doing nothing, just walking around the sealed door, or doing research at his computer, or once, watched him figure out that old machine that apparently made something edible. He hoped it was edible, anyways, because he'd watched Shaun eat it. 

And that was all. He'd watch and he'd wallow in his desire, until he couldn't stand it, and then he'd go be someone else for a while, just to repeat it the whole process over again. He hoarded those moments, those bits of Shaun he could see when Shaun didn't know he was watching, didn't think _anyone_ was watching. He kept his distance, and he watched, and he spent time in the animus, that was his routine.

And things might have stayed the same, until, after a supply run, someone brought back _coffee._

========

Thing is, Desmond wasn't a morning person. He'd worked for years as a bartender, meaning his hours started later in the day and ended early in the morning. He was never up before noon. But one of his roommates discovered that the smell of coffee would get Desmond up whenever it was brewed no matter how much sleep he'd gotten. Maybe it was because of the Farm; Desmond got juice in the mornings, but coffee was always available for the adults - always ready just before dawn, when the morning bell rang.

There hadn't been coffee at the warehouse; as far as Desmond had seen, Rebecca drank energy drinks or water, Shaun preferred tea, and Lucy went with tea or water as well. Nor had there been any at Monteriggioni, and that was probably for the best, because Desmond wasn't certain it would have been good at all with the state he'd been in. 

After Abstergo, Desmond was used to a day that began in the morning, and that kept up through his stay with the Assassins as well. But he was always the last one awake because someone _had_ to wake him - left alone, he'd likely sleep until after noon. Even here, in the temple, he was the last to rise, and it was usually his father's irritated voice that roused him.

But one day he woke, and he knew it was early; there was a certain stillness to the air, a hush in the temple. He'd have wondered why he was awake, but he could smell the coffee - Desmond's 'room' (a really fancy word for the half-crumbled space he currently slept in, though it afforded him some privacy and that was all he cared about) was actually the closest to their makeshift kitchen.

He yawned and stretched and made his way to the source, and was surprised to see Shaun there, fully dressed, if a bit bleary and still sleep-rumpled. He took a sip of his own coffee and leaned his head back to let out a satisfied sigh, and Desmond had to look away, actually, because the sight brought a fresh pang to his gut, a new one that he supposed he'd just have to get used to.

"'Mornin," he said, or slurred, because fuck, it was early. He was in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and his watch was probably on his floor. Who knew what time it was. He probably looked ridiculous, not that Shaun cared.

"Good morning, Desmond," Shaun returned, and if he was trying to sound professional and distant like usual, it didn't work. It was soft, and more friendly and open than Shaun had been so far. Shaun must have realized it, because he cleared his throat and tried again. "Breakfast will be ready soon if you...what are you doing?," he asked.

"Getting coffee, what does it look like?," he responded, because honestly, he was pouring coffee into a cup, what did Shaun _think_ he was going to do with it? He found sugar, but he knew they had no milk or creamer, so he'd just deal.

"Yes, alright, but what are you doing up this early?," he asked again, sounding baffled and a little more awake than he'd been a moment ago.

"...Getting coffee?," Desmond repeated, and took a sip of the scalding liquid to prove a point.

Shaun just narrowed his eyes at him, both annoyed and suspicious, and Desmond had to laugh. "Look, coffee always gets me up. Even if I'd been up all night, never fails," he said. "Did you buy it? I didn't even think you liked coffee!"

Shaun was an attractive man, he was, almost _constantly,_ which would be annoying if he weren't so damn hot all the time. But he was _especially_ attractive when he tried to get all huffy, which is why Desmond had riled him up so often when they'd first met. Shaun was doing that now, and again, Desmond had to look away, but luckily, coffee, so he could at least look natural about it.

"Well it never came up, did it? No one at the warehouse would drink it but me, so there wasn't much point in wasting money on it, was there?," he demanded, and that got his attention. 

"Wait, you're telling me Rebecca actually _doesn't_ drink coffee?," he asked, and Shaun laughed, actually _laughed._ "What about...," he trailed off, because he hadn't talked about Lucy, yet. "Lucy didn't either?," he finished, because it wasn't like Shaun didn't know who he'd meant.

But Shaun had lost the easy posture he'd had earlier, no traces of laughter left in his eyes. "No, she didn't, either," he said quietly. "Look, Desmond... you don't have to talk to me about it, but...we're worried, you know?" He sounded awkward, and took a sip of his own coffee - maybe it was his own excuse to look away. "Maybe you should talk to _someone._ " But of course he didn't offer up any suggestions.

And maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the early hour, or the crushing fear that despite everything that had happened, he wouldn't be good enough and the world was gonna end anyway, or maybe it was the coffee, but Desmond couldn't stand not knowing anymore. He had to ask.

"You?" He set down his cup, and moved around the folding table that was between them. "You worried about me?," he asked, and Shaun was watching him now, wide-eyed and wary. 

"Of- of course we are. I am. Worried." Shaun rarely stuttered, rarely was at a loss for words, and he looked so uncomfortable. But he didn't move away, didn't move a muscle, just stared at Desmond. "You...with Lucy, and then. The coma," he added, like that was coherent at all. 

"Would you listen, Shaun, if I wanted to talk about it? Because I want to, but I can't lay it on Rebecca and my father doesn't fucking listen to me, and I don't want to bother you with this, but you're the only one I even _want_ to talk to," he said quietly, and stopped, just two feet from Shaun. 

Shaun lost the wary look, but not the tension. "I could do that for you," he said, and it came out stiff. "If you need it, Desmond, I'll listen," he said, but Desmond just growled and turned away. 

"That's not the same thing!," he hissed. He knew the others were still asleep, but sound carried in this temple, and this might be the only privacy they ever had. He'd thought of this moment so many times, but the words he'd thought of, some of them he'd even rehearsed, all of them were gone. They might only have minutes, or even seconds, and the pressure drove any semblance of structure or sense he'd had. "Shaun, I don't... I can't fucking _stand_ this anymore, and I don't know how to deal with it. You don't even know what it's like, and you're the one doing this to me, and I have to just sit there and _see_ you, all the time, and just pretend that it doesn't hurt! I know it was just hormones, or heat, or whatever, but I'm on the goddamn suppressants and I still feel like I did when you were... when we...," he swallowed, and suddenly lost his steam, because even trying to name what that had been left him floundering. God, what a fuckup. He'd paced for his little outburst, and couldn't look at Shaun now. He rubbed his forehead instead. "Look, it just...it's hard, okay? And I trust you, I still do, and I wasn't trying to make this weird, I just..." He just needed more than Shaun could or would give him, that was all. Just the impossible.

But Shaun had moved, because he was behind Desmond, one hand on his shoulder. "Desmond, I do know. I know exactly what it's like."

Desmond turned towards him, shaking his head and pushing the hand away. "No, you don't. If you did, you never could have left the warehouse. If you did, you would have maybe sent me a goddamn e-mail once in a while! If you did, if you knew, you're a bigger asshole than I thought for doing that to me," he spat, and immediately regretted it. Because he thought Shaun _hadn't_ known, and he'd wanted to hurt him, but he hadn't been prepared for actually succeeding.

Shaun let his hand drop, and looked away, exactly as hurt as Desmond thought he'd wanted him to be. "I thought...at the time, I thought it was for the best. I thought it was just me, when I left, because I'd... I'd initiated it. It was your first heat, so...you shouldn't have even been able to...," he trailed off, and he looked so awkward and lost for a moment, and that was so wrong, and Desmond felt awful for causing it. "I was frightened, too, Desmond. I'd _never_... and then, your father..."

Desmond swore. "That's it, isn't it? My father? Because he's the Mentor," he guessed. "Fucking christ, Shaun, I didn't even _know!_ And you did, didn't you? The whole time, you knew? And you didn't tell me?"

Shaun was immediately defensive, which was never a good thing. "Well, when would have been the best time to bring it up? He told us not to tell you until you'd... y'know, settled into being an Assassin again. It's not like I could bring it up while we were...occupied."

"Oh my god. 'Occupied', really? So what would have happened if he wasn't my father? Would it have mattered at all?," Desmond managed not to raise his voice, but only barely. He wasn't sure where this talk was going, but he knew it had to happen, even if he was certain he'd hate the outcome.

Shaun wasn't looking at him, instead pacing the kitchen himself, restlessly. "I don't know. Probably not. He's weird when it comes to you, you know. Really protective. Gave us a speech and everything, before you were 'rescued'. But generally, 'management' doesn't interfere with...relations or relationships, as long as they don't interfere with our missions or responsibilities." 

"So, you let him break with that because he was my father? Would you have... you know what, nevermind, because I already have my answer, don't I?," he asked, and maybe it was bitter, but so was he, and Shaun would just have to deal with it. "Just...tell me how to deal with it, then. How do I let this go? How can I make it go away?" He was facing Shaun now, and he wasn't sure what he expected to see, but it wasn't what he got.

"I... I can't tell you that, Desmond, because I don't know," he admitted quietly, but he held Desmond's gaze. "It...I've never let it go, it hasn't gone away." Then he looked away. "If William didn't need my abilities, I wouldn't be here now. I got another speech, actually. I specifically agreed that I would not interfere with the mission, and I don't know, maybe it's kind of important, saving the world. I thought it best to... focus on that, instead." For a moment, just a brief moment, Desmond felt a spark of hope. But this whole thing had been fucked up from the beginning, and he honestly didn't see any way this could work out from here. Still, he'd felt it, and a small part of him held onto that.

"So, what you're saying is, it really isn't just me? That, this whole time, you've felt this...pull, this ache, and done nothing about it?" That seemed crazy, it seemed impossible, but Desmond had managed too, hadn't he? Sure, he'd kind of gone crazy in the middle there, but somehow he was managing, even if only just.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Desmond. It's fucked up all around, and it was my fault, and I thought... I really thought I was trying to do the right thing. But after I left, I... I didn't know what to say to you. I drafted up maybe a hundred e-mails and never sent any of them. I chickened out, and I'm sorry. I've never had to deal with this; it's not even like this sort of thing is common," Shaun said, and Desmond wanted to thank him for the apology or ask what kinds of things Shaun had wanted to say, but something else stuck out.

"Wait, what sort of thing?," he asked.

Shaun turned away again, shaking his head. "I'm not even sure, alright, it's just a theory, but it's not like I could research while I was under house arrest," he said, and moved to the little fridge like maybe he was actually going to start making breakfast _now._

But Desmond shut the door with one hand, frowning. "Shaun. What sort of thing?," he asked again, because he deserved answers. And if Shaun had answers, even if they were theoretical or whatever, Desmond deserved to know.

But Shaun still wouldn't look at him, and kind of kept flexing his hands uselessly. "It's just. You know, sometimes... no, it's stupid, Desmond, we don't even know each other, and it was supposed to fade with time, and, and distance, and we have other things to focus on, really." Desmond could tell that whatever it was, it upset Shaun, but that didn't matter much in the moment; Desmond was _done_ with being kept in the dark!

"Goddammit, Shaun, just tell me! I'm so fucking tired of never getting the answers I need! You suspect something or you wouldn't have even mentioned it."

Shaun let out a breath, slowly, seeming to deflate until he was leaning on the counter, looking anywhere but at Desmond. "I'm not even sure I believe it myself, alright, but... there are...stories. Of this kind of thing. People who were...meant to bond. Like fate, maybe, or soulmates, or whatever. It's ridiculous, alright? They're just stories."

Desmond was quiet for a moment. "Really," he said, because what other reaction could there be? "It sounds ridiculous, I'll give you that. But I've spent the last couple of months agonizing over a man I barely know, drowning in this... this.. overwhelming desire to be near you, to just...fucking... _be_ with you, I don't fucking know, so I can believe it. And not just sex - even though it was goddamn awesome once you got your shit together. Just... I feel like...," he trailed off, because he was the only one baring himself here, and Shaun had to give him _something!_ "Shaun, maybe it _is_ stupid, but maybe we should look into that."

But Shaun wasn't giving him anything. Shaun was looking at him now, yes, but he looked afraid, was already pulling his armor back on, straightening his posture and holding his head up. "Desmond, I promised William-"

"Goddammit, Shaun, fuck my dad, alright? I mean, wait, no, not like that," he added immediately, because that was a _horrifying_ image, "But who gives a shit what he thinks? I know he's the Mentor and all that, but he's wrong a lot of the time. He's not fucking perfect, and he's not... I'm not going to let him...," he sighed and trailed off, and look at Shaun, more than a little sadly. "But you are, aren't you? You'll do as he says, even if it hurts you. Even if it hurts _me._ I get it, I do." He nodded, mostly to himself. "But I want you to realize this is all on you. I'm willing to _try,_ Shaun. As much as you've hurt me, and as much as you infuriate me, I still want you so fucking much. It wouldn't interfere with the mission, because we're not children, and we can actually arrange our priorities. We get downtime. It wouldn't matter what my dad thinks, because it's none of his goddamn business. So think about it, maybe, and if you ever pull your head out of your ass, let me know. You know where to find me."

Desmond waited for a few moments, heart beating far too fast, because he'd laid it all on the line, put the ball in Shaun's court. But Shaun remained still, as if frozen. Maybe in shock, or maybe in fear, but he was looking at Desmond like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. But he said nothing, so Desmond growled and stalked out, snatching his coffee from the table as he made his way to his room. He didn't even have a 'door', just a sort of cloth stretched over the opening, so there was no satisfying slam, no real separation from the rest of the world, but he settled onto his cot all the same, drawing the blanket around his legs. He was full of adrenaline now, but unwilling to face anyone just yet. Maybe he'd go run around a bit after breakfast - the kitchen had been silent for a while, but he soon heard Shaun moving again, could smell the sausages cooking, heard the clink of dishware that indicated he'd started setting things up.

Soon after, William and Rebecca were up, and Desmond wandered in long enough to snatch some biscuits and sausages before jogging off towards the temple proper, where usually made his 'runs'. No one said anything to stop him.

========

Desmond avoided Shaun after that, and he made no effort to hide it, either. They only spoke when they had to, when it involved the animus, or intel. Or the database, which was still updated, which was still funny and relaxed and everything Shaun wasn't right now. Whatever happened, if anything, was entirely in Shaun's hands at this point. Desmond ran around the temple, made progress in the animus, and though the pull was still there, it wasn't exactly a burden anymore. He'd done all he could about it, and maybe he'd learned something from his ancestors about accepting things that he couldn't change, because he breathed easier, slept easier, and felt freer than he had in a while.

But it didn't stop him from wondering. It didn't stop him from sometimes taking his hidden perches in the temple, watching Shaun like he had before. Now, though, he watched Shaun when he wasn't hidden. He didn't _care_ what his father thought, and he _knew_ William had seen him do it more than once. But he said nothing. Maybe he was trying to show Shaun something, or maybe he just was tired of fighting it, of hiding it. So he waited, and he watched.

Desmond was certain it wasn't his imagination that often, when he was looking at Shaun, he caught Shaun looking back.


	12. Chapter 12

Desmond was driving him crazy. Desmond was driving him crazy, and he was doing it on _purpose._ He was always watching Shaun with a hungry, hooded look in his eyes. Except when it was necessary, Desmond didn't really speak to him, but he was watching. He was _waiting._ Shaun knew exactly why - Desmond hadn't exactly been vague, after all, and Shaun still had no idea what he should do. What he was _going_ to do; something was going to happen eventually, because he couldn't stand up to this forever.

Ever since that morning with the coffee, it had been on his mind. And he wanted what Desmond had offered, wanted it _badly._ But it wasn't as easy as Desmond seemed to think, because every time he looked away from Desmond's gaze, he met William's, whose eyes held a different sort of expectation. Despite the terminal distraction, though, they were making good progress. Desmond had no problems synching, and had no additional signs of the bleeding effect. He didn't even have the symptoms he'd had before, hadn't had a single episode. He still sometimes had nightmares, though, because even when Shaun didn't hear Desmond's shout echoing in the temple, Shaun would wake anyway, heart pounding and palms sweaty and a fierce pain in his chest. He wouldn't do what he wanted to, so he just lay still and concentrated on breathing slowly until everything eased. He had no idea if it helped Desmond at all, but he did hope so.

Shaun took care of his own duties; he kept up with the database - even though this wasn't exactly a priority; he had _so many_ things to say about the American 'revolution', and by god, _someone_ was going to hear them - and continued his forays into Abstergo's networks. He often worked with Rebecca on this sort of thing, but he was better than she was at digital infiltration of this sort, so he did the bulk of the searching while she consulted on covering his tracks. And he had a promising lead, but he was waiting for confirmation. Between the four of them, Desmond was actually the most well-equipped to go in the field, as unorthodox as his training had been. William was many years past his field work, and both he and Rebecca had different specialties. They could do very light infiltration, if _absolutely_ necessary, but nothing like this would require. If they were sending Desmond, it had better be worth it - he was the only one who could find the key, after all.

So when he had his confirmation, had triple-checked that the info was good, he mentioned it when he knew Desmond would most appreciate the break. He even drove the van, listening as Rebecca gave Desmond the rundown on the equipment he'd be using. It was pretty standard stuff, though of course she'd made a few modifications in her spare time. William handled the parachute 'talk', and even though he went over it twice, Shaun felt much more nervous over it than Desmond appeared to be. It was supposed to be a simple mission, something to stretch his legs out a bit. Relatively safe, all things considered. Shaun knew that the air approach didn't exactly hold _no_ danger, but it was their best bet. 

They were all watching the feed as Desmond made his way up the site, climbing and running like he was born to it. Naturally, Shaun couldn't hold his tongue when Desmond nearly slid off the side of the building, and since sarcasm was his natural response to basically everything, he quipped about the view to cover up how his heart nearly beat out of his chest at the sight. It earned him a good-natured (or so he hoped) 'Fuck you' that kind of made his heart beat a little faster for a different reason.

Even though he wanted to, he couldn't shut up about it, because Desmond could literally die before he even saw the damn power source, and it would be Shaun's fault because he'd suggested it. Why on earth had he thought this would be a good idea? Why had he agreed with William about the air approach? What had he been thinking? So now he was stuck in a van while they watched Desmond make impossible jumps and shimmies without any safeties at all should he be even a little off.

So he made light of it, or tried to, said any inane thing that came to mind, but there were parts of him that thought maybe he should shut up because maybe he _shouldn't_ be distracting Desmond while he made said impossible jumps and shimmies. Shaun just didn't deal with helplesness well. He knew he'd be kicked out of the van on the next mission, he just _knew_ it.

Desmond never showed any fear, really, and Shaun had to admit he was impressed. Even when he was at the top of this crane, on top of that building, so high up that cars were mere toys, he never hesitated. Shaun's heart was going about a million beats per minute as Rebecca gave him the final rundown on the jump itself. As fast as it was beating, though, it just about stopped when he saw Desmond struggle a little with the chute - he hadn't even used one before, surely they could have gone over it just once more before sending him up there! But it opened just fine a few (too fast) heartbeats later, and Desmond sailed down to the helipad without any trouble whatsoever.

Inside the building it was empty and quiet, and Desmond retrieved the source without any trouble. But he wasn't really alone, and Shaun realized immediately that maybe he hadn't covered his trail well enough, even with Rebecca's help. He knew who that was, he'd read the files, and now Desmond had a gun in his face. A _gun_ , when all Desmond had was the hidden blade that he'd kept, that he wore even when he slept. Why hadn't they thought to give Desmond any firepower? They could arm him, easily - and despite Shaun's panic, Desmond didn't falter, even in the face of a man who was more of a threat than Desmond realized. 

Shaun feared the worst, but no, Desmond just _handled it,_ like a fucking pro, pulling the gun aside and knocking Cross out with the damn battery! Shaun almost had whiplash from how fast he went from terrified to impressed. In that moment, he knew things couldn't stay like this. Something had to give, and he knew it would be _him._

========

The drive back was tense and quiet. Desmond was practically vibrating with pent-up energy, tossing the power source between his hands. Shaun was glad he was the driver, because he had an excuse for not speaking - not that it had ever stopped him before, but at least he could look busy. William just buried himself in his tablet, and Rebecca looked out the window and occasionally glanced at Desmond in the reflection.

Desmond waited until they were back before demanding answers, and Shaun stepped in because he knew William was conflicted about Cross. He kept it short and to the point and didn't mention the fact that nearly all the blame for the Assassin's current position as 'desperate' or 'fucked up' was Daniel's fault. He'd never met the man, of course, but William had. Once. Rebecca refused to speak on the subject.

William, at least, focused on the real issue. "How did he know you were there? We could be compromised...," he said, and Shaun was certain he knew where this was going. The brotherhood had certainly had more than its fair share of traitors, and they'd just run into the worst.

"They must have caught me snooping inside their network, and sent Cross to see what we were after," he murmured, as much as it pained him to say. "We'd know if they knew of our location, but... it doesn't bode well for any future expeditions," he added, because nothing staved off depression like more sarcasm. There _would_ be future expeditions, because they did need these artifacts. But he was certain no one in this room was a traitor; he'd stake his life on it.

Rebecca mentioned cameras, which meant that they'd at least have some warning should the Templars come knocking. He'd like to make sure he looked presentable, see. Wouldn't do to die in shabby clothes, though he doubted they'd even bother to bury any of them. Shaun kept these thoughts to himself, to make up for his inability to do so before. But because he needed to say _something,_ he informed Desmond of the obvious, that he could either plug in the new power source, or enter the animus. He hadn't meant to, but he'd touched Desmond, just on the arm, just for a second. He'd never admit it, but he wanted to reassure himself that despite what might have been, despite his own fuckups, Desmond was just fine.

========

Desmond chose to put the battery in before re-entering the animus. They all wore earpieces in the temple - it was so large, and sometimes they were so separate, but they needed to be in constant contact in the temple. Even Desmond agreed when William had ordered it. After all, any emergency might be their last, and they had to be able to respond immediately. Desmond spent most of his 'free' time exploring the temple, and the place was so big that it was impossible to determine where Desmond was. Shaun got used to the soft sound of Desmond's shoes hitting stone, the scrabbling of his hands to grab, the soft grunts he occasionally gave voice to. Desmond was actually rather quiet when he explored, which shouldn't have been surprising, but it was.

Sometimes when Desmond explored, he received messages from Juno. Shaun had no idea if they were recordings, but Desmond once said there were visuals to go along with the audio. Since they all wore headsets, all the time, everyone heard them. Sometimes there would be comments, but Shaun never spoke - the messages weren't meant for him, and if Desmond wanted his thoughts, he'd ask. Shaun had no idea if Desmond asked the others about them, if he talked to them. He tried not to think about it. The first message was about humans and how they were going to be harnessed to save the world, but the plan had failed. Then an ominous warning that what had come next was worse. This message was about Minerva, and how she'd left messages for Desmond to find throughout time. 

Desmond expressed his frustration with all of this, and Shaun kept quiet. It wasn't his place to offer answers or comfort, neither of which he was even confident he had in the first place. But he rather thought William wasn't exactly qualified, either, not that it stopped him. It seemed that they communicated best when they weren't face to face, though, because out of nowhere, Desmond brought up Lucy. He was alone, somewhere in the temple, finally talking about what had happened, and Shaun almost wanted to take the earpiece out because he wasn't sure he should be hearing this. Whether he even deserved to. Desmond didn't address anyone in particular, and talked over his father's attempts at comfort, and Shaun knew that Desmond was aware that he was listening, too. But Shaun said nothing, too uncertain of whether he even _should._

What could he say? Desmond said he'd seen what she was, that she _was_ a traitor. Maybe it was seeing Cross that prompted the confession, but Shaun wasn't sure. He said he'd chosen to kill her, because the templar's plan would have failed, and he wondered what that meant, what would have happened if Desmond had seen instead that it had worked this time. It was hard to reconcile the Lucy he knew with a traitor, but at the same time, why would Desmond lie? Would Juno lie to Desmond? What did she have to gain by Lucy's death? Shaun remembered her grave, a peaceful cemetery in a country foreign to both of them, remembered being sorry that this was all they could give her. He remembered wondering what his own end was going to be, wondered if anyone would stand at his grave and mourn, wondered if he'd even be buried. Given their position, that seemed less and less likely.

Desmond finished with a warning that they should be wary of Juno, and Shaun just let it be. He had too much to think about, but he'd already made up his mind to do _something._ He felt like he was going to burst, filled with a restless, directionless energy that never boded well for him. This was almost the same kind of restlessness he'd felt before breaking into Rebecca's room before this started. The same kind of recklessness that presaged all of his best decisions and worst mistakes. He could only hope that when he inevitably fucked it up, he didn't inadvertently damn the world in the process.

========

Shaun couldn't bring himself to face Desmond directly, so he had only one way of giving Desmond a private message; the animus. As he'd predicted, after his confession, Desmond headed straight in. It wouldn't be a long session, since they'd just returned from a mission only two hours before, but it gave Shaun a chance to send a little notification, similar to those he received when the database was updated.

_'I'd like to talk to you. Meet me in the kitchen after this session. - S'_

Nothing fancy. If Desmond had changed his mind, or didn't want to talk, he could just head to his room without entering the 'kitchen', and Shaun would have his answer. But he, William, and Rebecca had their rooms in another part of the temple, so Shaun could just be getting a late snack if Desmond ignored his offer. Shaun excused himself after sending the note, because he was as bad at waiting as he was at dealing with helplessness. So he waited at the pitiful folding table, breaking crackers into smaller and smaller pieces.

Desmond didn't actually keep him waiting long. He seemed a little tense, which made sense, because _of course_ he'd be tense after everything that had happened today. Shaun was suddenly unsure; on the one hand, this probably wasn't the best time. Timing was definitely not his strong suit. But on the other, would there ever be a good time for something like this with the end of the world hanging over them? Not likely. 

"So, did you just want me to watch you commit cracker genocide, or did you actually want to talk?," Desmond asked, and maybe he seemed a little amused. Shaun wasn't sure where this confidence came from, but he knew it was as intriguing as it was confusing.

"No, I wanted to talk. It's just...everything I'd thought of is suddenly no longer coming to mind," Shaun said. "I'm not even sure where to start."

Desmond laughed, and it wasn't cruel at all like Shaun had feared. "Yeah, I know how that goes. Look, is this about Lucy? I know you heard. I...that's not how I wanted to tell you, but I just... I had to say it. I didn't hate her. I didn't _want_ her to die. But she had to," he said, quiet and sad, and Shaun almost reached out to him before breaking a few more crackers instead.

"It...wasn't, not really. Today was pretty messed up," he said. "Cross... I'd heard of him. He's... he's messed up, Desmond. He could have killed you," he added, very close to what he really wanted to say, but couldn't quite get to, not yet.

"Yeah, Becca told me," he said quietly. "Shaun, were you worried?," he asked, and he really was smiling at that, small and wondrous. Shaun couldn't deny him the truth, if it would make him even a tiny bit happy.

"Yes," he said, suddenly breathless. "Desmond, he had a _gun,_ an actual gun, and he could have shot you. Could have killed you, just like that. We could give you a gun, you know, it's not that different from using Ezio's hidden gun," he said. He was babbling, he knew it, but Desmond's smile only grew wider. "It was _my_ fault, Desmond, he was there because I fucked up, and Christ, I thought the jump was bad, but... this was _my_ mistake, Desmond. My mistake could have killed you," he breathed, and there it was. He could have gotten Desmond killed.

But Desmond didn't stop smiling. He hadn't actually sat down; he'd just stood at the table, facing Shaun. But he moved now, walking over to where Shaun was, and he touched him, just like Shaun had touched him before: a firm pat on the arm. "You don't actually know that," he said. "It's gratifying to know you care. But hey, I dealt with it, right? No big deal, I'm fine." 

Shaun had to swallow, because the first thing he wanted to say was _of course I care._ "I saw," he said instead, and maybe he sounded hoarse, but somehow, his heart had sped up and when had that happened? "You dealt with it, alright, I can't... you were so...," he breathed. He stood up, pushed the chair back and stood and looked at Desmond. "I've never gone from terrified to turned on so fast in my life," he whispered. It might not be romantic or sentimental or even affectionate, but for him, as far as emotional ammunition went, he'd just given Desmond he equivalent of a hand grenade - Desmond could so easily throw this back in his face and leave him a mess, if Desmond realized it.

Desmond stared at him for a moment, then licked his lips, and it didn't even matter if it was a nervous motion because now Shaun was staring at them and remembered he'd never allowed himself to kiss the man before he'd fucked things up between them, and that was just a damn shame. But he had hope, because those lips quirked upwards, and while he'd definitely fucked things up, maybe it wasn't as irreparable as he'd thought. "That happen often enough that you've got a basis for comparison?," Desmond asked, and Shaun couldn't help but laugh. Sure, maybe it was a little hysterical and disbelieving, but he felt he could be given some leeway, given the circumstances.

"Only where you're concerned," he replied, deadpan, and Shaun might have been upset at how quickly the smile dropped, were it not for the hungry expression that replaced it. 

"Shaun, you better be careful," he said, low and serious, and Shaun couldn't believe he'd been denying himself _this,_ all this time. It all seemed so pointless, now, the fear and indecision he'd been living with for far, far too long. "Don't you start this unless you intend to go somewhere with it. Unless you intend to _finish._ " 

"I think we'd best continue this conversation somewhere more private," Shaun said, because he was going to show Desmond precisely where he was going with this, and honestly, that kind of conversation was better held in privacy, preferably horizontally but Shaun wasn't about to limit himself to certain axes if it was a dealbreaker. Desmond had been pretty enthusiastic about being vertical, before.

Desmond grinned and nodded, and turned to walk away. Shaun followed, immediately. He expected Desmond would head to his 'room', but he wouldn't refuse Desmond if he wanted to 'continue this' right on the animus. Luckily that wasn't necessary, because Desmond did duck into his room, and the second Shaun followed, he was pressed against the stone wall, Desmond's face only inches from his.

"I mean it, Shaun," he said, and his voice was quiet and soft and still so serious. "I don't care what my father thinks, and I don't want to misunderstand. What are you doing?"

"Desmond, you make me crazy," he said, and that wasn't exactly what he meant to say. "I mean...you look at me, you're always watching me, and I'm tired of pretending I don't want this as much as you do. Not when you could die so easily. Not when I could have this... _if_ I can still have this, that is," he added, because it really would be rude to presume. Desmond could have changed his mind; by all rights, he should have. Shaun knew he'd acted abominably, and he wasn't proud of it, but if it hadn't been the right thing when he'd made the decision or at every point afterwards, it certainly wasn't the right thing to keep _doing it._

It must have been the right thing to say, because Desmond smiled at him. "What, exactly, is this?" Shaun hadn't exactly expected this would be easy; he certainly didn't deserve it. However, he had to admit that turnabout was fair play, and Desmond had risked more than he risked now.

"Everything you're willing to give. Anything you want from me," he said. "No limits, Desmond, I mean it. If...if this _is_ what I mentioned before, then it's stupid to fight it, this whole thing has been stupid and I'm _sorry,_ but that doesn't change what happened. I just...don't want that to be how things _are._ I was wrong, Desmond, and I hope you realize how much it pains me to say that, but I'll even repeat it for you if you want." He realized that wasn't exactly romantic by most peoples' standards, but he'd like to think Desmond knew him well enough to understand what it meant coming from _him._

Desmond actually laughed, husky and relaxed. "Really? Wow. Go on then, say it again," he said, like a test, but he was still smiling, and Shaun couldn't believe he'd actually done it, he'd put that there. He was breathless all over again, heart speeding up, and all because of a single goddamn _smile._

"I was wrong," he said. "So wrong, I was the most wrong anyone's ever been in history, and you can trust me on that, because that's my specialty. I am the wrongest. And sorry. The sorriest," he added, and he was smiling too, so wide it almost hurt. 

Desmond laughed again, but his expression turned serious far too quickly. "Well, I'm going to need proof," he said, and in that instant, Shaun would almost swear to do anything Desmond asked. "Kiss me," Desmond said, and Shaun hadn't been expecting that. Desmond might have sensed his confusion, though. "You think I didn't notice? You never kissed me. That's what I want, Shaun, you won't believe how often I've thought about-" 

Shaun rather thought he knew how that sentence would end, but it didn't matter, because he'd pulled Desmond close to kiss him. It was just their lips touching, and lacked a lot of his usual finesse, but the angle was awkward; Desmond was still holding him to the wall. That lasted all of a few more seconds, before Desmond's hands moved, and so did Shaun's. He let his hands skim up Desmond's sides and shifted his head for a better angle, and this was much, _much_ better. He let his tongue slide over Desmond's lips slowly before Desmond responded with a low groan, his own tongue meeting Shaun's halfway.

Shaun had to move, shifted so _he_ was pressing Desmond into the wall, kissed him like he'd always wanted to, always _meant_ to. Desmond's hands were on him, too, and that was just the best, he wanted a lot more of that - both in the immediate future and forever.

Desmond was the one who broke the kiss, pushing at Shaun gently, and Shaun let him, because he wanted to smile some more anyways, and that was hard to do with his mouth - quite literally - occupied. Desmond was grinning too, and as breathless as Shaun, but he tried to look serious for a moment. He totally failed, but Shaun let him think otherwise, and settled back a little bit to give Desmond room. 

"We're gonna talk about this later, right? Really talk?," Desmond asked, and Shaun almost agreed instantly just so he could keep kissing Desmond some more, but since all of his instincts had fucked him over in this relationship before, he ignored that.

He took a deep breath instead. "We could talk right now," he said, and tried to sound as serious as this should be. It would be difficult, but this was important, and he wanted Desmond to know that he did take it seriously, that he _meant_ this.

But Desmond laughed and pulled Shaun closer. "God, no," he breathed. "I need to be touching you right now. But this isn't a heat, Shaun. I'm holding you to that," he said and Shaun agreed enthusiastically. Not with words, of course, but he was certain Desmond would understand what his resumed desperate kissing meant.

He'd promised to give Desmond what he wanted, and Desmond wanted to touch, so Shaun untucked his shirt. Desmond caught on quick, and 'helped' by running his hands over Shaun's skin, skimming up his sides, over his stomach and chest. They had to break the kiss to get the damn shirt off, but it was so much better now that it was gone, because Desmond kept touching him, kept kissing him.

"Your turn," Shaun breathed against Desmond's lips. "C'mon, off!" He was already pushing off the stupid hoodie, and if Desmond could stop kissing him long enough for Shaun to get his shirt off, Shaun supposed he could return the favor. But he was on those lips again the first moment he could be. "Christ I can't believe I let myself do without this before," he growled, already reaching for the button on Desmond's jeans. He wanted all of him naked, _now._

Desmond didn't help in the least - his hands were still all over Shaun, on his shoulders and neck and down his back, getting in Shaun's way. "Do without what?," he asked, sounding just as breathless as Shaun, and that was definitely satisfying. He wanted Desmond to be breathless like this, wanted to make Desmond breathless like this, always.

"Kissing you. I wanted to, I did, but I couldn't. You were...it was heat, it wasn't supposed to mean anything," he said, and soon, he was pushing at Desmond's jeans. Desmond pushed his hands away, though, and pointedly toed off his shoes first. Shaun laughed and stepped back to remove his own. He took a long look at Desmond, shirtless with his pants open; Desmond, who was flushed and panting already, whose lips were already slightly kiss-swollen. Shaun hadn't thought it was possible to want the man any more than he already did, but Desmond was fiddling with his jeans, and shot him a shy sort of glance, and Shaun had to lean against the wall for a moment because he couldn't trust his legs to hold him up against that.

"Yeah, I thought about it all the time, too," Desmond said. "I knew you'd be good at it," he laughed, and finally pushed his jeans and boxers off, stepping out of them and standing there, naked and hard and _perfect._ Shaun had been working at his belt, but really, he needed to stop and just look for a moment, because Desmond really, really deserved to be appreciated. Desmond even posed for a moment, turning his head away and arching a brow at Shaun like he had no idea what effect he had. He might have been some glorious statue, were it not for the spectacularly hard prick jutting in front of him, bobbing ever so slightly with his heartbeat.

" _Christ,_ Desmond." That was all he could manage, because somehow there seemed to be a lack of air in the room. Desmond just grinned wider and moved closer and started to help Shaun with his belt, but instead of helping remove his pants, he cupped Shaun's cock through his pants, and Shaun groaned and bucked into it. "No, no, let me get this off," and he pushed Desmond's hand away so he could abandon his clothes, too. 

Desmond laughed. "I intend to," he said and waggled his brows, and Shaun had to join in the laughter, even as he was pressing against Desmond, and he'd never done this, never started a kiss with laughter on both their lips. That seemed a shame, and he intended that there should be more of this, more laughing and kissing and a lot of it at the same time. That would be just _great._

"That was awful," he said, though he clearly meant the opposite. "C'mon then, what...ah, what are we going to do? We don't have any supplies," he murmured, and it wasn't like he didn't have any ideas on what he wanted to do, but Desmond should have some input, right? He also knew he'd remedy their lack on his next supply run. Which would be soon. _Very_ soon.

"Fuck, anything. As long as it involves orgasms and touching you, I'm good," Desmond answered, hands still on Shaun, on his hips and on his ass and back up to his chest again, like he couldn't get enough. Shaun had never been wanted like this before Desmond, it had never been like this before, and he wondered if Desmond felt the same, if he sensed Shaun's own desperate need.

"Alright. Think that cot can hold us both?," he asked, already maneuvering Desmond towards it, and even though it was all of four feet away, it seemed to take a long time to get there. Of course, they had problems walking and kissing at the same time, and often stopped the walking to do the kissing, so that might have had something to do with it.

"Probably. I can't think of a better way to test it," Desmond murmured, and finally pulled away enough to lay on the cot. It took the two of them a few moments to figure out how this was going to work, how to position both of them, because while the cot might have held their combined weight, it wasn't actually very big. They settled with Desmond on his back, legs spread enough for Shaun to settle between them. It was more comfortable for Desmond if he hooked his ankles behind Shaun's back, but that was more than fine because that lined up their pricks perfectly and Shaun smirked as he thrust against Desmond, who went from mildly dubious to incredibly enthusiastic about the position _very_ quickly. 

"Ah, yes, yes, this was a good idea," he praised, and Shaun only laughed and reached between them. Shaun was glad he was an alpha - he produced enough precome that they wouldn't have to wait long for what he had in mind. Desmond bucked into his touch, and Shaun continued touching and rubbing slowly, until they were both slick enough that this next bit wouldn't chafe them too much. He took his hand away and leaned into Desmond a little more, so that the only friction against them was their own bodies; their cocks sliding against each other, against their stomachs - it was _glorious._ Desmond arched into him, and his appreciation of the situation was very obvious. Also, loud. 

He couldn't kiss Desmond like this, because he was breathing too heavily, so instead, he nibbled at his earlobe, down his jaw and neck, to the spot that had started this entire mess. He only let his mouth rest there, breathing against Desmond's skin. There could be no claim like this, but a primitive part of his brain found it very satisfying all the same. He was thrusting in earnest now, the cot was creaking beneath them, and he was almost there. "Desmond, fuck, Desmond. I'm going to come all over you," he breathed, and Desmond just bucked against him, apparently agreeing with this plan of action.

Shaun chuckled briefly before he nipped at that skin, scraped his teeth over it as he gave his last few thrusts. To his surprise, however, Desmond stilled beneath him and howled, and Shaun felt his come, hot and slick against his stomach. That was more than enough to trigger his own orgasm, and he groaned deeply as it crashed over him, adding his own seed to the mess between them. He felt a little shaky after, and there was no way he could collapse onto Desmond like this, so he pulled back. Desmond didn't let him go far, though, because he didn't release his legs. 

"Desmond, I..mm, I need to move," he said, because his arms were _not_ going to hold him up much longer, and Desmond growled something, and then threw his blaket onto the floor and finally released Shaun long enough to pull them both down there instead. Desmond held onto him, and Shaun wasn't exactly going to protest. One of Desmond's shirts was within reach, so Shaun grabbed it and wiped them both down before snagging Desmond's pillow off the cot and pulling it behind him. Desmond was basically intent on using him like a pillow, so he saw no reason not to take it for himself.

So they settled like that, on the floor of the temple, and it wasn't exactly comfortable, but he couldn't complain - not with Desmond pressed so close against him, radiating contentment. He waited for a bit, as they caught their breath, as their heartbeats settled, and Desmond didn't say anything, so Shaun let himself drift for a bit, comfortable and relaxed as he hadn't been in a long time. He knew he should be worrying - about William, or maybe about the end of the world - but he wasn't. He let his hand brush over Desmond's neck, up and down his spine, just as he'd done before.

"That was my shirt, wasn't it?," Desmond finally asked, and Shaun chuckled.

"It was. Sorry, it was all that was in reach," he said, and shrugged the shoulder Desmond wasn't currently laying on. 

"I don't care," Desmond laughed. "You um. So, we can't actually form a full bond unless we're off our suppressants, right?," he asked, voice quiet, and his hand was touching his neck, where the skin was just a bit darker than the area around it.

"That's right. You have to be in heat for a bond to form. So I wasn't... I couldn't, right now. It just... felt right," he offered, in case Desmond had been worried about it. 

But Desmond kind of sighed. "Oh," he murmured, and Shaun realized he was disappointed. He shivered a little, because he wanted that, too. He was tired of this situation as much as Desmond was.

"You know, save the world and then we can do it. If you wanted," he said quietly. "We do sort of have that priority, but afterwards... I doubt anyone would begrudge you, or us, that," he said. He didn't name names, but he was certain Desmond took his meaning all the same.

Desmond craned his head to look at him. "You mean that?," he asked. "I'm not asking for a promise or anything Shaun, but... afterwards, you really want to see this through? I know what you said earlier, but-"

"I mean it, Desmond," he interrupted. "I've wanted it so long I don't remember what it's like not to. Gives us another goal to finish this, eh?," he asked, and then laughed. "Besides, um, there's no way this is a secret. I didn't intend this, exactly, when I sent that message, but it's not like we were quiet. And sound carries in the temple."

Desmond sighed. "Yeah, I, uh, sorry," he said, looking down again, blushing slightly, but Shaun just laughed. 

"Hey, none of that. I didn't mean I didn't like it, just that...well, we're gonna have consequences immediately, is all. Now, I'm not saying this because I didn't consider this consequence, but I have to say it; your father is going to be furious. At me, mostly. And I _don't care,_ " he added, just so Desmond could be sure. "I'm just not sure how I'm going to react, is all. It's...complicated," he murmured, and he'd explain if Desmond wanted, but he didn't think that was going to be necessary right now.

Desmond nodded. "Yeah, I get that," he said, and gave a harsh little laugh. "Just don't...don't pull away from me, okay? I'm not saying you have to hold my hand or whatever, but don't deny this, Shaun. That's all I ask."

"I won't," he promised. "I won't." 

After that, there were no more words. Desmond slipped into sleep first, and Shaun shifted enough to pull the blanket over them, as well, before drifting off himself. His body would hate him in the morning, but it was already worth it. It was worth much more.

========

In retrospect, they probably should have put _something_ on before falling asleep, because apparently Desmond's habit of sleeping in had infected Shaun. Which meant that someone came to seek them out in the morning, and found them, naked and tangled together on the floor, and well, everyone was definitely awake now, great. Luckily, it was Rebecca that came to wake them, and while she'd likely give him shit over this, it was _so_ much better than Desmond's father that he'd take all the shit she could dish.

Shaun had immediately covered them up, and it wasn't like he was trying to hide what happened; it was one thing to have people hear you have enthusiastic sex in a place with great acoustics, but it was another thing entirely for them to catch you naked and cuddling on the floor. Desmond, however, found it _hilarious,_ and suddenly, he was impervious to the worst of Shaun's glares.

"Clearly, I did not think this through," he growled when they were alone, and he saw Desmond's face fall, so he shook his head. "No, no, I didn't... I was... shit, Desmond, I didn't mean it like that," he said, suddenly serious. "I deal with most things using sarcasm, and... I, ah, I've fucked it up already," he growled harshly. However, he was determined to try and salvage this, so he stood to face Desmond, naked but for his glasses. "Let me explain?," he asked, and Desmond nodded. "You um, I don't mean a lot of the things I say, you know? If I tease you, it's because I like you. The sharper my tongue, the softer my heart, yeah?," and Desmond nodded again, warily, but listening. "You're going to realize I'm all bark and no bite. I glared at you and you laughed. It used to intimidate you, but now it never will again because you know I don't mean it. That's what I was saying. But that's not a consequence I actually regret. I say so, because that's what I do, but I _want_ that, Desmond, I really do. I want you to see right through me, to know I don't mean it. I want you to laugh at me when I do that. Also, thinking before I speak is not a skill I actually seem to possess," he added, and Desmond was already relaxing, smiling slightly.

"Alright, I get it. We jumped into this backwards, so...just keep talking to me, alright? Explain. Don't let me jump to conclusions," he said, already moving to gather his own clothes. He looked unfairly hot, really, and it was ridiculous how ready Shaun could be for another round if he let himself. "You know, I worked in a bar. I'm used to sharp tongues. You're at least funny about it most of the time," he said, pulling on a clean pair of boxers before tugging his jeans on.

"Just most of the time?," Shaun asked as he gathered his own clothes. They were wrinkled and rumpled, but he hadn't exactly brought a change, so he'd have to go to his own 'room' to do so. He dressed quickly, aware that Desmond watched him do so. He didn't mind (it was really flattering), but he wasn't sure what Desmond found so appealing, really. He didn't doubt Desmond's sincerity, though.

"Yeah. You'll need to work on that," Desmond said, pulling his shirt on and leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling away with a shy smile. "I'll run interference, you go change. Then we can face my dad, alright?," he asked, and Shaun sighed. 

"Yeah, alright. Thanks," he murmured, but Desmond ducked out, and whistled a second later. 

"All clear," Desmond called, and Shaun stepped out and nodded at him once before heading to his room. He made it to his room, and washed himself quickly. They didn't exactly have running water, so they were all reduced to sink baths, but it was much better than nothing. He felt much better when he finally stepped out of his little room, clean and in clothes that were slightly less wrinkled than what he'd just stripped off, and saw Desmond speaking with his father just aside from the huge main walkway in the temple. Rebecca was at her computer, but glanced up long enough to give him a thumbs up and a wink, the saucy wench.

William did not look pleased, but neither did he look angry. He couldn't see Desmond's face, but he saw that he was standing up straight, that he was tense but not _angry_ , and that had to be a good sign. Still, he knew they had to get this over with, so he approached the two after William acknowledged him. 

"Shaun," he said, when Shaun was close enough, and Desmond turned to smile at him, already losing a little of his tension.

"William," he said, a little formally, and stopped at Desmond's side. He wanted to touch Desmond, wanted to reach out and maybe rest his hand on his back or his shoulder, but he didn't, not yet. 

William stared at him a moment, and sighed. "I knew this was going to bite me in the ass," he said, and Shaun frowned. He _hated_ disappointing people, especially someone whose opinion meant a lot to him, and it was hard to face that, even if what he'd gained meant so much more than this. "But, all things considered, this isn't my biggest priority right now. Don't let this interfere with your duties, either of you," he said sharply, and Shaun nearly laughed. That was _it?_ That was all he got? What had Desmond said to him?

"It won't," Shaun promised, and he stepped closer to Desmond. He did reach out this time, did rest his hand just on Desmond's lower back. Desmond relaxed into the touch, and Shaun knew it had been the right move. "We both know how much is at stake. Quite frankly, it gives an extra incentive," he said, and caught Desmond's eye. Desmond just grinned back at him, and Shaun couldn't ignore that William saw it, and his expression warmed, just the tiniest bit. Shaun knew William loved his son, just as he knew the man was absolutely shit at showing it in a way Desmond could understand. 

But William gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, and turned away. "Just keep it to Desmond's room, and do _try_ to be a little quieter next time," he said, and Shaun tried not to, but he flushed scarlet at that. He'd been (or should have been) on the other side of the temple, and had still heard them. 

But Desmond pulled him close, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. "Don't worry. I know tons of places in the temple where they can't hear us," he promised, and Shaun shivered. That's a promise he'd make sure Desmond delivered.

========

If it weren't for the whole impending apocalypse, Shaun might actually consider these the best days of his life. Hell, even taking the possible end of the world into account, these were still the happiest days he could remember. Things were going well, and everyone was busy. It was almost exactly like it was before, except Shaun had moved most of his things to Desmond's little room; he no longer slept alone, and there were a lot more orgasms then there had been before - and all of them of _much_ greater quality (it was definitely the company). More laughing, more kisses, more touching, and he was constantly surprised by each one. It wasn't precisely _easy,_ because they were still learning about each other, but neither was it hard, because Desmond was always meeting him halfway.

He felt lucky, and he knew that was dangerous, because luck wasn't something you could control. Luck was something that could reverse itself on you with no warning. Shaun didn't speak of these fears, but some nights he'd hold Desmond a little closer, a little tighter, and he thought Desmond understood anyway. Sometimes, Desmond would do the same, and he could do nothing but _be_ there and hope that it was enough for Desmond, just as Desmond's presence was enough for him.

They got by just fine. Sometimes they fought, every time they made up, and no longer did Shaun carry an ache within him. The pull was still there, but now it was a comfort, a balm even when he was restless. And even though he knew this feeling was just theirs, this happiness belonged to him and Desmond only, it made him hope for other things as well. They might actually pull this off. They'd get the key, activate the gizmo, and do what even the first civilization hadn't managed.

After that, of course, the Assassins still had to deal with the Templars, and while their position could still be described as 'desperate' and/or 'fucked up', now they had _Desmond._ Shaun wasn't sure when he'd started to think of Desmond like that, like a savior, but he was a game changer, wasnt he? He was the secret weapon in their arsenal. He was going to save them. He was going to save the world.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains feels of both the fluffy and angst flavor, and is the second that the archive warning applies to. Just a heads up.

It was funny, when Desmond thought about it, what happiness meant. He'd always been in search of it, but it was something different to each person; you could always recognize when other people were happy, and sometimes even what made them so, but would have a harder time knowing what do the same for you. He'd done what other people his age did, when he'd run away; he'd partied and tried all kinds of drugs and hooked up with strangers, but it hadn't made him happy. It had made him forget what he was searching for, for a while, but that was it.

And here he was, back with his father, back with the Assassins, back in the animus - all these were things that had made him _un_ happy, and yet, even counting all three factors, he was quite content. It wasn't just the whole thing with Shaun, though that was a big part of it. His father had been right, the Assassins were needed, and he had a purpose. He wasn't suffering from the bleeding effect, had not a single symptom with Connor at all. He could see the appeal of the animus, really, because without the whole 'making you go crazy' part, it really was fascinating - and quite often, it was even _fun._ Sometimes, late at night, he'd talk to Shaun about it, about the things they should look up, discussing possible ancestors, or famous people whose stories it would extremely cool (Shaun said 'educational') to witness. Shaun was especially jealous of him because he'd gotten to meet Leonardo da Vinci (sort of), who had no direct descendants that anyone knew of. 

Desmond had even managed some decent conversations with his father, though they still fought more often than not. Now, though, there were just actual apologies and explanations, on both sides - usually just before another fight. It's not like that could change overnight. This he knew was because of Shaun, because sometimes Shaun would help him decipher the man, and Shaun had admitted to coaching William as well. 

Shaun himself, though, was a marvel, and was admittedly the best part about Desmond's life at the moment. He'd relaxed a bit, _finally_ believed Desmond when he said that he'd always enjoyed his stupid prickly sense of humor, and remained willing to explain anything if it came out the wrong way - which wasn't as often as he knew Shaun had feared. That first morning was just a spectacularly bad example that hadn't actually been revisited. So he settled back into sharp and sarcastic and yeah, Desmond was _really_ into that. 

They had a few arguments, but they weren't really that bad - despite being all shmoopy and hot for each other, prolonged confinement with impending apocalypse tended to make some people crabby, so Desmond could cut him some slack. Also, each argument ended with really fantastic makeup sex, so it was hard to really hate them too much. It didn't hurt that Shaun was just fantastic at sex in general, or that he also seemed to be as enthusiastic as Desmond in that regard. Desmond kept his promise, and dragged Shaun to spots all over the temple for 'privacy', though there had been one disastrous encounter where Juno had appeared randomly as she liked to do, and had seemed as alarmed and upset at the situation as the two men. They didn't try that spot again.

Rebecca teased them both, _constantly,_ until William told her to dial it back a bit, and now she only did it almost all the time, instead. Desmond knew she was just jealous, and (not so) secretly really happy for them, so he just let it slide. Shaun took a couple of days before he could even look at her, after the whole naked morning thing. (He also hated that Desmond called it 'the naked morning thing' - or at least, he said so, but he'd refused to look at Desmond and had been kind of smiling, so Desmond didn't buy it.)

Never once did it interfere with their respective jobs. Shaun wouldn't give him the time of day if he was busy, and Desmond never even _touched_ Shaun when they were 'on the clock'. But he could feel an echo of Shaun's regard, steady and warm inside his own chest. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost swear the sensation lingered even when he was in the animus.

========

Despite Shaun's worries, Desmond actually looked forward to the battery-recovering expeditions. He wasn't exactly unaware of the danger, but he felt so _alive_ that he enjoyed them more than he'd have thought. He asked his dad if this is what fieldwork was like, and that had probably been one of their best conversations to date. He could tell his father was pleased by his interest, and a discussion of possibilities beyond this crisis followed. His work wouldn't end just because he'd saved the world, after all. The Templars would still be a threat. He would still be needed, not because of who he was descended from, but because of who he was, and that comforted him in a way he'd forgotten he'd needed.

The whole Brazil experience had been hairy, though. It was definitely disturbing to see wanted posters with his face on them, but the infiltration had been perfect; he'd gotten in without a single casualty. Cross was there as well, however, and Desmond had to beat up some innocent security guards that Cross had led them to. But he refused to kill them, and eventually when they were all down, he knocked out Cross (again) and took the battery before fleeing onto the subway train. It had been close, but he'd made it - and all on his own. They couldn't afford a camera in this public space, so he'd only had the others on radio. Every decision and consequence had been _his,_ and the experience was heady and exciting.

When he rejoined the others, there was celebratory dinner (and later, with Shaun only, celebratory sex), and then it was back into the animus. They were feeling the deadline a little more closely now, and Desmond wished he could hurry the memories, but he could only live the ones presented, in order. 

So when Shaun said he'd found another, much more quickly than even _he_ had expected, William had volunteered to retrieve it. He wasn't a field agent anymore, and it was possible Desmond was the only person less expendable than he was, but he really was the only choice. It was in a museum, didn't seem to have much of a guard, and they really didn't have any other options; Desmond was needed in the animus.

Desmond knew his father had the training - his father had trained him, after all (well, he'd tried to). But Desmond wasn't really surprised when he got out of the animus and they had word that his dad had been captured. Vidic sent them a message, a video, and Desmond felt his previous anger returning. If he'd only been able to kill Vidic when he'd raided the warehouse...! No doubt they'd hoped it would be Desmond himself who retrieved this battery like all the others, but this might actually have been better for Abstergo. This way, they would get Desmond _and_ the Apple, or so they apparently thought.

When he announced he was going to get his father, no one spoke up against him, and he was glad for that. He honestly had expected Shaun to object, especially when he said he'd be bringing the Apple with him, but he'd only offered tips on how best to get in there, and was already trying to get the blueprints for their headquarters. Shaun _did_ bring up as many obstacles and opposition he could expect, but he wasn't pushing Desmond to reconsider. He just wanted to make sure Desmond knew exactly what he was getting into, particularly because Desmond's plan was to literally walk in the front doors and see how far he could get before he needed to fight his way further.

It was weird, just walking into Abstergo's lobby. He was wearing his hoodie - had his hood up and everything - but he had the blade strapped to his arm. It wasn't even all that hidden; it was strapped over his sleeve. He actually didn't make it further than the lobby before he had to fight, and he knew going in that that was the best he could expect. But he fought, and these men he _did_ kill, because they were templars, and because they had his father. Vidic even took the time to taunt him, which was both petty and _incredibly_ infuriating, but Desmond wasn't going to do anything Vidic wanted. So he climbed and fought. The whole time, he'd expected something to go wrong. He wasn't the Mentor, he wasn't cleared to make decisions like this, and if it failed, it was all on him. This wasn't like Brazil, where he risked much less. But this was his _father,_ and there was no way he was letting Abstergo keep him. 

He wasn't surprised at all to run into Cross, though he did think for a moment it was pretty ironic that it was in a room similar to the one that Desmond had been kept in when he'd been Abstergo's 'guest'. Shaun had informed him a little more of Cross' history, and Desmond honestly pitied the man. But when he was cornered, with a crazy, broken man wielding a gun, he realized he probably should have taken Shaun up on getting himself a gun. It wasn't like he wanted to go bang-bang crazy, because he didn't want to kill anyone that didn't need to die, but it would certainly be useful in very specific situations. Desmond was well aware that if Cross hadn't experienced a _very_ severe episode peculiar to the bleeding effect, he would probably be dead. In the end, he had to kill Cross. He knew it was necessary, but it was a sad end to a sad life, and it had come at his hands. He wasn't sure if it was a mercy or not.

When he finally faced Vidic, his anger returned in full force. It was no longer mindless, like it had been in the warehouse, but he knew with a cold certainly that he couldn't let the man live. He played along, pulled out the Apple, and saw his father's eyes widen, but William didn't say anything. Vidic talked, like he always talked, but Desmond was done listening to him. Done letting have one more moment to draw breath, and just like that, with that one determination, he made a man shoot his superior, and then all of the guards in the room shoot themselves. It wasn't wrong, the Apple told him. They were weak and he was not, and so it could not be wrong to use them as he saw fit, then discard them when they were no longer useful. 

Then his father spoke to him, and the Apple's spell was broken. William couldn't believe he'd risked so much to save him, but of _course_ he had. The man was an asshole, but he was his father, for christ's sake, of course Desmond came for him! They hugged, for the first time since Desmond was a child, and he hadn't realized he'd missed this, awkward as it was. 

But he was more shaken than he showed, and on the way out, he only made the men collapse instead of killing themselves, because he _was_ strong - he was stronger than them _and_ stronger than the Apple - for now, at least. Altair had believed himself stronger than the Apple, too, and had wasted away many years listening to the secrets it chose to share. But good things had come from that, so maybe Desmond was wrong; it was something he both wanted to think about and never face. When they got back to the temple, it was late enough that he wouldn't need to get back into the animus, which was fine, because he just wanted to think for a bit, so he ran around the temple until he found a nice, quiet spot, and spent the time there until Shaun mentioned he was getting some sleep.

Desmond decided he didn't want to be alone any more, so he joined Shaun in their room in time to curl up to the other man, under the blanket. Shaun read him pretty well, actually, and knew when Desmond didn't want to talk, so he just held Desmond as he fell asleep. That was exactly what Desmond wanted, and he fell asleep soon after.

========

Desmond could tell he was getting close to the necessary memory in the animus, because things in Connor's life were coming to a head. Seeing Connor kill his own father, knowing that he'd always wondered, always _hoped,_ then having everything he'd secretly wished for fall away with his father's last breath... Well, it made Desmond appreciate his own dad a little bit more. It prompted another awkward conversation, but one that didn't devolve into yelling, so maybe they were making progress. He'd even asked to go home and see his mother, and William had agreed - after this was over, of course.

Desmond wasn't unaffected by the lives he lived in the animus. He saw only snippets, only parts of these men's lives, but they were long parts, and he didn't just witness them - he lived them. He hurt when they hurt, and sometimes he hurt because they didn't. Each of these men had remarkable lives, had seen and done so much. Each played a small part, they'd _sacrificed,_ and while there was happiness to be found for them, there was so much sadness, too. So much pain and loss. But there was an ending, for all of them, a closing of the chapters that Desmond witnessed, and seeing Connor's last relevant memory, the one where he buried the amulet, well. It was bittersweet, to say the last. 

He could ask what became of Connor, and he might, after this. But time was running short - they had to actually travel to retrieve the damn key, and when they did, it was kind of anticlimactic. Buried in a child's grave, and it wasn't even all that deep. Yet, it had remained exactly where it had been left, trod on by who knows how many people, none of whom knew that just a few feet beneath their feet lay the key to their eventual salvation.

There was an excitement in the air when they returned. No one knew what would happen, but they all knew it would be big. Time was running out, but they were going to make it, Desmond could _feel_ it. There was no hesitation, no waiting - the moment they returned, he put the key in the door. What they found was a pedestal, glowing and expectant, and Juno appeared. She promised it would be easy, all he had to do was touch it to activate it. 

But Minerva appeared, and of course things were not going to be easy. Juno had betrayed them, had been leading him wrong the entire time, and if Desmond did as she asked, he would die and she would be freed. Minerva promised Juno would spread her wrath across the globe, enslaving those who submitted and killing those who wouldn't. But if Desmond abstained, if he did nothing, the world would burn, yes, but some would survive. That wasn't all, and at Juno's prompting, Minerva added that Desmond himself would become like a messiah, a new Jesus, but his message would be twisted over time and more religious wars would result. Another cycle would begin anew.

The answer was clear to him. There was no way he could damn billions of souls just so _he_ could live. Juno might want to wage war, but humans were numerous and crafty and had always risen up against tyranny and enslavement when it was do or die. They had no time, and Desmond yelled at the others to leave, that they had to prepare and get out of here before he could do this. 

Shaun, of course, refused. "Desmond, don't do this!," he begged, and Desmond turned to look at him. William was actually holding him back, was tugging him backwards, and he met Desmond's eyes for a moment. He looked sad, but he also looked _proud,_ and Desmond smiled. 

"Shaun, he has to," William said, and Shaun yanked his arm out of William's grip.

"I know," he growled and stalked towards Desmond, pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together. "I could stay with you," he whispered. For the first time Desmond could remember, Shaun looked so helpless and broken. His eyes were suspiciously wet. "Desmond, I can't.."

"You can, Shaun. I need you to. I'm saving the world. I need you to make sure it stays saved," he said, and he smiled. He felt a little sad, but not for himself - his own feelings wouldn't matter in a few minutes. But he'd be leaving Shaun, and that felt awful. He was so very, very glad they hadn't bonded, because he had no idea if he could do this if they had. "Hey," he said, a little more softly, hands moving to hold Shaun; one on his waist, the other on his neck, like Shaun used to do for him. "Don't give up, okay? Don't ever give up." He desperately wanted to tell Shaun he loved him, because he _did,_ but last-minute confessions were the worst. Shaun already knew, he _had_ to, and if he didn't, Desmond was certain the words would be more of a burden than a blessing.

Shaun nodded against him and took a shaky breath. "I won't, I promise," he breathed. "Fuck. Desmond, I...," he swallowed. "I love you, alright? I think I always have," he murmured, and pressed a quick, shallow kiss to Desmond's lips before pulled away. He stayed there for just a few more heartbeats, just staring at Desmond before he turned and ran to the others, who had gathered up the equipment while they'd had their moment. Shaun hadn't looked back by the time he'd rejoined them, or by the time Desmond turned back to the pedestal. 

Desmond knew he was doing the right thing. He was glad for Shaun's parting words, just as glad as he was that he hadn't said them back, even if he'd meant them. He had a light heart as he walked towards the pedestal. This was the right thing to do, this was what he was _meant_ to do, what he'd been born to do. This was his purpose. All the incredible lives he'd witnessed, all the pain and sacrifice - it led to _this_ moment, and he was going to be worthy of it.

He was going to save the world.

He didn't hesitate when he stood before the pedestal. He was smiling as he reached for it.

It wasn't painless, but as Juno promised, it was over quickly.


End file.
